


Maidens, Ashes, and Souls

by QueequegTheater



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), RWBY
Genre: Canon Divergence Post V3C11, Mild Timeline Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 20:16:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 100,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9623816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueequegTheater/pseuds/QueequegTheater
Summary: Azrael has let the fires fade, and now he finds himself in a new world, with a strangely familiar white-haired girl. But there are forces at work in Remnant, forces Azrael is all to familiar with. Rated M for violence, and probably language.There will be no author's notes, as I feel they destroy immersion.  If you want to ask me something, message me or leave a non-anonymous review.





	1. Introduction

Well, this was certainly a new feeling for Azrael: uncertainty. He had never actually considered that he could be summoned against his will, but it was happening nonetheless.  Azrael took a moment to observe his surroundings. This was _definitely_ new.

He seemed to be standing in the middle of a courtyard, with an enormous mansion about 200 feet to his left.  To his immediate right stood a frightened-looking adolescent, covered in long white hair that seemed familiar for reasons Azrael could not understand.  Cowering behind the girl were two younglings, her younger siblings, if their identical hair color was anything to go by—one male, one female.  Azrael’s gaze lingered on the younger female for some time, once again not quite understanding what it was that mesmerized him so. A little past the children stood a dark-haired man with a stern expression who seemed to be the only person in the courtyard not completely terrified.

He checked his armor and weapons to make sure he was entirely there.  He found everything in order: Lucatiel’s sword was held firmly in his right hand, the helm of the legendary Alva the Wayfarer sat firmly upon his head, and the telltale yellow robes of the Xanthous scholars seemed to be intact, along with his Lothric Knight gauntlets and leggings.

And yet, that niggling uncertainty remained in the back of Azrael’s mind.

Yet, none of this particularly bothered Azrael compared to the ground around him; he was standing in the middle of some sort of rotating symbol or glyph.  Azrael decided not to worry about it for now—he could always deal with it later. First things first, he wanted to figure out who had summoned him.  His Darksign, like an unwelcome guest who refused to leave, immediately provided a name.

              **_Winter Schnee_**

Well, that was one mystery solved.  He looked toward the young woman, clearly no longer a child, yet not quite an adult.  As soon as their eyes met, Winter screamed at the top of her lungs in abject fear.

“DADDY, HELP! PLEASE DADDY MAKE IT GO AWAY!”

Azrael noted the older man’s eyebrows raising, but otherwise he did not react. Most likely her father. After understanding how little threat the children posed to him, Azrael began walking directly towards the man.  This man—obviously, Winter’s father—didn’t even register the movement, although his two younger children immediately ran back towards the building,.  As he walked to the edge of the symbol on the ground, Azrael took note of several metal attachments to the house that were following his movement.  _So, he has some sort of defense system in place. Interesting._ When Azrael finally reached the edge of the symbol, he wasn’t sure what to expect…but it certainly wasn’t what happened.

All hell broke loose.

Incredibly loud wails began to sound all over, as if someone had bottled up the dying screams of a hundred Belfry Gargoyles and released them as one.  The metal attachments to the building began spitting out projectiles at an extreme velocity—faster than anything Azrael had seen since his first time in ancient Anor Londo, nearly fifteen thousand years before.  Thankfully, these projectiles didn’t hold a candle to those damnable arrow-spears, and Azrael quickly dismantled the weapon emplacements with several judiciously aimed fireballs.

The adult Schnee, for his part, had already begun moving, a grim determination etched upon his face.  He didn’t move towards his daughter, nor into his home to make sure his other two children were okay.  Instead he ran to Azrael’s left, for the rapidly advancing line of armored soldiers.

Azrael cocked his head in confusion; the soldier’s weapons resembled a short, strangely shaped club with two handles, one of which had a finger guard and some sort of small lever attached.  These men wore light armor, but did not move nearly as fast as he had come to expect from the thieves of the High Wall or the mannequins of that horrid bitch Mytha.

To their credit, the soldiers acted in perfect unison, as if they had trained for exactly this situation their entire lives—which, unbeknownst to Azrael, they had.  Azrael let out a vicious snarl that would have chilled the blood of even the proudest Varagian and sent a Lothric Knight running for the hills, tail between his legs.  He saw many of the soldiers, now numbering in the dozens, falter, but amazingly, not one of them fled.  Azrael would have to investigate how Schnee kept his warriors under such strict control, but even as he tried to decide on a course of action, one of the soldiers started speaking to him.

“DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND BACK AWAY FROM THE GIRL IMMEDIATELY OR WE WILL OPEN FIRE ON YOU!”

It would occur to Azrael later that day that he probably could’ve handled the order a little better.  But Azrael had issues with people who pointed weapons at him.  Rather than relinquishing his sword (it was a gift, after all), he raised his right hand—still wreathed in his pyromancy flame (another gift he would not relinquish) and uttered the only word he had spoken so far.

“ ** _NO._** ”

Many more men died that hour than Azrael thought was necessary. But they shouldn’t have threatened him. On the plus side, the girl who summoned him came to no harm—Azrael made sure of that when he summoned the enormous shield of Havel the Rock and forced it into the ground in front of her.

Azrael was a great number of things, many of them bad, but he was certainly not a summon who would allow his summoner to die under his watch. When the dust settled, there were only three people left standing: Azrael, the girl, and the Schnee patriarch, looking both terrified and apprehensive.  Azrael almost cracked a smile upon seeing a crack in the man’s arrogant veneer.

The stones that made up the bulk of the courtyard’s decoration were strewn all over, cracked and broken.  Two statues had been destroyed by the soldier’s overzealous assault, and Azrael heard a mighty tree falling somewhere in the distance, likely a victim of the same weapons that destroyed the statues.

He planted his sword a foot deep into the ground, deciding he could easily take on a terrified child and her equally terrified father with his hands if he was forced to.  As he approached Mr. Schnee, he saw that the man was about to flee like a coward.  He needed answers, and he really didn’t feel like playing a game of tag to get them. “Stop right there. I’m not going to kill you.”

As Azrael suspected, the coward froze up. “What do you want from me?”

“First? I want to know where I am, Schnee,” Azrael spat out.

“Y-you know my name, but not where you are? Is this some kind of sick joke?”

The undead warrior swiveled his head very deliberately, looking at each of the slaughtered soldier corpses in turn. “Does it look like I’m joking?”

“You’re in the Schnee family residence.  It appears my daughter summoned you accidentally. Please leave now.”

Azrael almost did a double take.  Could this man truly be this arrogant?

“I don’t recall giving you permission to order me around.” The color drained from Schnee’s face so quickly it was almost comical.  For the first time that day, Azrael permitted himself to smile behind his helmet.

“Next question: who exactly are you?”

“My name is Jacques Schnee, and I am the executive vice president of the Schnee Dust Corporation,” Schnee replied, puffing out his chest as though he thought Azrael would be cowed by his title.

This was going nowhere and Azrael had no desire to prolong the conversation with this intolerable man any longer than necessary. “I didn’t ask for your job, but it’s just as well. Moving on: let me speak to your daughter.”

“Absolutely not. You just killed more than fifty men, and you expect me to let you speak to Winter?”

“Two things. First, I didn’t ask to speak to Winter. I was referring to your younger daughter.” Once again, Jacques was visibly cowed by Azrael’s tone.

“And secondly, I wasn’t asking.”


	2. A Revelation

Weiss cowered in the closet of her bedroom along with her little brother, Whitley.  She didn’t understand what was happening, only that she was terrified beyond belief. That enormous man should never have appeared—Winter was just trying to summon a baby Beowulf, for Dust’s sake!

Weiss recalled the previous day, when her 14-year-old sister came bounding into her and Weiss’s room, bragging that she had finally learned how to summon.  She was so proud of herself that she couldn’t wait to show off to her siblings.  Unfortunately, their father walked in at that moment and scolded Winter that she would not be allowed to summon anything for the rest of the day.  Weiss would never forget the heartbroken look on Winter’s face.

But the summoning had gone wrong, and Winter had summoned…well, _something_.  The moment it started moving, Weiss instinctively picked up her toddler brother and ran inside, past both of their parents’ bedrooms, past her mother’s “private mommy room” that always smelled weird, past their kitchen, all the way across the mansion to her quarters that she shared with Winter.  She stuffed the now crying toddler in the closet and soon followed him, but not before stealing a small knife from the closest kitchen.

As Weiss tried desperately to quiet her brother, she heard distant yelling, followed by a single word, spoken by a deep voice that terrified Weiss.

**“NO.”**

It wasn’t the tone of it that scared her so, nor was it the word that the creature spoke.  It was the fact that Weiss heard it more clearly than even the loud yelling of Captain Sierra, the head of Father’s security—a gentle man who loved to play peek-a-boo with Weiss (back when she was a mere infant) and Whitley.  The monster’s voice was deep and growling, almost like an Ursa’s roar, and sounded somehow both old and young—like somebody who had lived for many centuries and yet was younger than Father.  But even that didn’t perturb Weiss nearly as much as something else about the voice.  With a gasp, the six-year-old came to a horrifying realization.

She had heard the voice before.

* * *

Winter sat on the ground in shock.  She couldn’t believe it.  Her own father—who was supposed to protect his children—didn’t even try to help her! He ran away towards the security officers the instant he saw danger.  He left her alone in that field with this abomination!  _No wonder Mother is always drinking.  I know I would if I had to be his wife,_ Winter seethed.

Even more shocking to Winter was the fact that she still breathed.  She had seen the Captain and his security teams deal with thieves and the like before, and it wasn’t pretty.  Sierra was an incredible shot, and he would never dream of hitting a bystander, but Winter seriously doubted that all of his men—a pack of rude, brash assholes, to a man—cared the same way he did. And yet, she had clearly survived the firefight.  Winter crawled out from behind the massive stone formation that had seemed to simply appear in front of her, cracking the ground.  As she looked across the courtyard, it became evident that not everyone was quite so lucky as her.  Body after body was littered across the now destroyed practice grounds, many of them mangled and broken.  Suddenly Winter regretted eating such a large breakfast, as it all came rushing back up her esophagus.

But the pain of stomach acid on her tongue paled in comparison to the last thing she would later remember seeing: Captain Sierra’s body, missing his right arm, gushing blood, and yet miraculously still breathing, lying less than twenty feet from Winter.

Azrael was nearly at the mansion door when he heard Winter’s scream.  Sighing, he turned around, bound by his duty as her summon to help her.

He saw her crouched over the body of the man who had tried to force Azrael into submission, a tall man with dark skin and no arm.  He quickly noticed he had absorbed souls of 49 humans—one short of the number who opened fire on him—and understood exactly what was needed.

Readying his pyromancy flame, he unceremoniously shoved Winter aside and went to work on the wounded man.  Focusing his mind for several seconds (and wishing that he had taken Straid’s and Laurentius’s advice about attunement seriously), he readied a Warmth orb.  After several seconds the technique crystallized in his mind and he immediately began applying the healing flame to the soldier, completely removing the two large gashes in his side and mending all seven broken ribs.  Once the minor injuries were dealt with, he moved up to where the man’s right arm and shoulder had once been.

There were many things said about the people of Mirrah, but “subpar blacksmiths” was never one of them.  The poor man dying at Azrael’s feet had tried to block the incoming slash with the middle of his strange weapon, but the borrowed greatsword cut through his weapon, armor (as well as some strange resistance Azrael felt on all the soldiers between their armor and their flesh), flesh, muscle, and bone like a hot knife through butter, and came out the other side having lost almost no speed whatsoever.

For the first time in centuries, Azrael was legitimately shocked.  That blow would’ve felled any number of steel-plated knights from Lothric or Drangleic, and would have put even a Silver Knight of Anor Londo at death’s door.  And yet this man took the blow full-force, and still breathed.

Azrael quickly discovered that the wound was too severe for his Warmth to heal completely, and wished for the millionth time in his long, long life that he had studied the more complex miracles of Gwynevere.  Hoping for his patient’s sake that the man was unconscious, Azrael raised his flame once again.  But this time, rather than the soft healing of Warmth, he summoned up a basic combustion pyromancy to burn the enormous wound closed.  If the man hadn’t already fainted, he would have as the intense heat seared his flesh closed.

Azrael stood up and surveyed his handiwork for several seconds before he was satisfied.  This man would likely never fight again, but he was alive.  Azrael only hoped that he would live long enough to explain to him how he managed it.

* * *

Winter woke up to an empty courtyard, and for a few glorious moments, she thought that she had woken from a horrible nightmare.  Then the smell hit her.  Coppery blood, Dust from weapons discharge, and lingering smoke from the still-burning turret emplacements.

She sat there on the hard stone, crying, for a full minute before two thoughts occurred to her.  First she noticed that the hulking monster and her father were gone, along with the body of Captain Sierra.

Second, she remembered the monster saying something about talking to Father’s daughter, and that he didn’t mean her.

Without another thought, Winter jumped to her feet and dashed inside the house, determined to protect Weiss from whatever it was that she had brought into this world.

* * *

After making sure that the Schnee family mansion had a medical wing and sending the fallen soldier there, as well as making a mental note to personally see to his care, Azrael made a beeline for the opposite end of the mansion.  He didn’t understand why he knew, but he knew exactly where Weiss would be hiding.

Ignoring Jacques’ pleading, Azrael quickly strode through the building, passing by living quarters, a room that reeked of alcohol despite the closed door, and several kitchens, until he finally found the room he was looking for.  Not caring for decorum, Azrael burst through the door—not bothering with the lock or handle—shoulder first, utterly annihilating the thick wooden threshold.

Upon entering the room, he stopped moving, and looked around the spacious room.  To his right, Azrael saw two medium-sized beds next to each other.  Situated on the far wall next to a relatively unadorned window, he saw two large dressers covered with books.  The left side of the room was dominated by a book shelf and a beautifully carved wooden desk.  Azrael walked over to the desk and looked at the open notebook.  Azrael had never learned to read, but he could tell from the hand-drawn pictures that Weiss and whoever else slept here, either Winter or the infant boy, had been making plans to stack their beds vertically to free up extra space in the room.

As he walked over to the beds, he noticed a door tucked away in the corner, and heard muffled crying coming from within, as if someone had been gagged.  Knowing that Jacques would never dream of interrupting him, Azrael casually walked to the door and opened it, where he found exactly who he was looking for: the little girl whose appearance made him so strangely uneasy, holding a knife in one hand, with her other hand both covering her small brother’s mouth and keeping him away from the enormous man in front of her.

The seven foot tall, iron-clad behemoth let out a hearty laugh as he looked at his quarry.  _The little girl must think I’m after her brother, and yet she still intends to defy me. Admirable, but I am done wasting time._   Azrael removed his steel gauntlets and simply took the knife from the small child’s hands, although not without getting stabbed twice for his trouble.

“I’m not here to hurt your brother. I wish to speak with you. Come, sit down.”

Azrael walked over to the wooden desk and, in a single fluid motion, removed the knife from between the bones of his hand and buried it four inches deep into the solid mahogany of the desk.  He gestured for the girl to come over to him and took off his helmet, revealing his scarred face and short, dark-green hair.

“I said, sit down.”

Terrified by the revelation that this monster was actually a human, Weiss complied immediately.

“What is your name?”

Still too scared to form so much as a rational thought, Weiss simply sat in the desk chair that Winter never let her use, too distracted to realize that she had finally got to realize one of her most coveted dreams—the big girl chair.

When the girl still refused to answer, Azrael frowned.  He couldn’t understand why he was being so patient, now that he was so close to understanding the niggling unease at the back of his mind.  Normally he would already be screaming at such stubbornness, and yet somehow he knew that it would prove fruitless.  How could he know that?  Discarding his confusion for the moment, Azrael decided t try something a little…unusual.

“Do you want to hold my weapon? Will that make you feel safer?”

The girl’s face contorted into pure shock before she smiled and nodded vigorously. _Daddy would never let me touch one of the family weapons!_

“Now be careful, it is very heavy.  Do not try to lift it—I will place the point on the ground and give you the handle,” Azrael said, suddenly aware of Winter and Jacques watching intently from the doorway.  He saw Jacques begin to move to stop his younger daughter, but before Azrael could send a withering glare his way, Winter slammed her foot down on her father’s shoe.

Weiss held the hilt of the large sword, feeling the weight of countless battles in every groove. Azrael decided to push his luck. “What is your name?”

The response was a single word, spoken by the most beautiful voice Azrael had ever heard.  “Weiss.”

Suddenly, everything fell into place. Azrael’s uneasiness, the girl’s pure white hair, all of it suddenly made sense.  Azrael didn’t know how it was possible.  She had been dead for more than a dozen millennia.  But somehow, some way, Azrael knew it was true, as sure as he had ever known anything in his life.  This innocent little girl’s name was not Weiss, no matter what her parents called her, no matter what she herself thought.  Her name was one that Azrael had not dared to hope he would ever say again.

This little girl held Priscilla’s soul within her.


	3. A Desperate Journey

Karla wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes.  Azrael, her savior, had disappeared from the Firelink Shrine in a flash of white light.  One moment he was speaking with the keeper, and the next, he was gone.

And he truly was gone.  He had not teleported out of the shrine to Majula or some other far-off land, or even to that damnable Painted World he spent so much time inside.  If Azrael had simply moved, Karla would’ve been able to sense him.  The perks of being a daughter of the Abyss, thought Karla. _That is, if you don’t mind almost everyone in existence recoiling in fear whenever you try to approach them._

This was bad.  Very bad.  With Azrael gone, Karla was both a faithful servant without a god to follow and a teacher with no star pupil.

And yet, despite Azrael’s apparent disintegration, something didn’t sit right with Karla.  The flash of light appeared similar to how Azrael had described soapstone summons.  Although Karla herself had never seen one, she was fairly certain that Azrael had been truthful to her about summons—he had often mentioned (often times, at greater length than Karla was able to stay interested for) just how much he despised manipulators and liars.

Still, this didn’t add up.  One thing that Azrael had always said was that soapstones required the consent of both the summoner and the summoned.  So why did Azrael seem so surprised when it happened? And how was it even able to happen inside the shrine?  Karla’s admittedly loose understanding was that there was something special about these shrines that prevented crossing into other worlds here.

She needed to know more.  So, for the first time in her cursed life, Karla went to see the Fire Keeper.

* * *

Even as a sellsword for the Duke of Tseldora—or perhaps because of his service there—Vengarl had always hated spiders.  And yet, here he was, already eight months into defending a caravan carrying one of the largest he had ever seen since he “met” Freja.  That day, Vengarl finally realized the depths of the Duke’s insanity and immediately resigned his post as captain of the city guard.  It turned out to be a good decision, because that very evening the entire town was taken over by the Duke’s pets, driven mad by the very brightstone that made Tseldora rich.

It really was too bad that the fucking Lion Knights chose that same day to assault Drangleic.  Vengarl began to think back on that day—the day he lost his body—and the centuries of isolation that followed.  As the weeks turned into months, then years, then decades, he nearly forgot what it felt like to speak or even simply to live, except vicariously through the rampages his body would occasionally go on in the distance.

But one day, when Vengarl was dangerously close to the despair that Undead knew all too well, he met Azrael, and found new purpose.  No longer would he indiscriminately slaughter whomever he was pointed at.  No more burning villages or killing slaves.  Now, Vengarl fought alongside Azrael, because it was the right thing to do.

Vengarl’s reverie was broken by a woman’s voice.

“Daydreaming about your duel with the Defender, are you?” spat out the blonde knight beside him, shaking her head and chuckling to herself.

“Of course not.  I’m thinking about how much I fucking hate spiders,” came the enormous man’s retort.

“Oh really? Even though Azrael made it clear that this one is defenseless and pathetic—not to mention blind?”

“I know what he said, I was there.  And I believe him.  But you never met Freja and her children.  Even small spiders eventually grow up.”

“Oh, poor Vengarl, the Mad Knight can’t even handle a girl with a few extra legs!”

“I’ll only warn you once, Lucatiel.”

“Fine, go ahead and pout, but do it on your own time. We’re not sightseeing.”

“How could we? Azrael killed this place’s sun, in case you hadn’t noticed.”  It was true.  The pair of warriors had not seen anything but the glare of their torches for several weeks.

Vengarl had wondered for a long time about just where Azrael came from, but the man was extremely reluctant to even acknowledge that he had existed before he found Majula.  Vengarl knew how to take a hint.  Even when Azrael simply disappeared for a century, Vengarl didn’t bother trying to discover where the man had come from.  And then Azrael returned to Majula, just as Vengarl and Lucatiel knew he would.

Vengarl smiled in spite of himself.  Azrael always had a good reason for doing what he did, and sending both him and Lucatiel meant that this spider girl was massively important.  Vengarl had thick skin; he could deal with his unease around the woman until Azrael returned.

* * *

Karla had returned to her alcove, where she sat, deep in thought over what her next move would be.  The Fire Keeper proved surprisingly unhelpful, as she knew even less about what had happened than Karla herself.  She sat there for hours, bickering back and forth with Alsanna over what to do.  The only other person in the shrine was that horrid old woman, and she would surely be of no use.  After nearly a day of argument, Karla finally accepted Alsanna’s plan.

There were precious few sane people left in Lothric, and two of them spent all their time trying to kill the others.  But Lothric wasn’t the only place Azrael had conquered, nor was it the only place he had allies.  It likely wasn’t the best solution, but the child of Dark had precious few options.  Karla packed up her scrolls and left them in Azrael’s wondrous little item box.  One day she would have to ask Azrael how that thing worked.

But for the moment, Karla was going on a trip to Majula.

* * *

Another six months of pure darkness had pushed Vengarl’s patience to its limit, when he saw a sliver of natural light for the first time in over three years.  He was so enthused he jumped for joy, narrowly dodging a spear aimed at his head by his irritated travelling companion.  “How can you be so somber right now? We’re back in Drangleic!” Vengarl said to the exasperated blonde.

“We’re still not in the clear.  We have at least 50 more miles to go before we reach Majula, and you know that. Now eyes front, I have a bad feeling about this next passage.”

Lucatiel was right about the canyon, but even so, the two of them quickly dispatched the forty or so hollows that blocked their way.

The caravan exited the narrow gorge and found itself looking at a wide path leading through a sparse forest, with sunlight shining through most of the thin canopy.  Lucatiel finally allowed herself to relax.  They were nearly home.

* * *

A hundred thousand miles away, Karla had finally reached the outskirts of Lothric, but found herself hesitating.  Past these mountains, the Dark did not reign as it did in Lothric or the erstwhile land of Lords.  Karla knew that the path would be dangerous, and even the mere touch of sunlight would not be pleasant for her.

Rationalizing that she had felt much worse at the hands of those sadistic jailors in the Irithyll dungeons, Karla took a step forward, leaving Lothric for the first time in six thousand years.  As she did, she silently prayed that Lucatiel would be in Majula.

She also secretly hoped that Alsanna would sprain both her ankles for coming up with this plan.


	4. A Deadly Reunion

It had been five years since Azrael had arrived in Remnant.  In that half-decade, Azrael came to learn a great many things about the world he now inhabited.  Winter and Jacques told him about the creatures of Grimm, the magical substance known as Dust, and the Faunus.  Jacques talked at great length (and with great vitriol) about the Faunus and the White Fang, and Azrael took in every word.  It was immediately apparent to the Undead warrior that Jacques was an unrepentant racist.  Azrael himself had spent thousands of years dealing with exactly the sort of treatment Jacques seemed to relish in—insults, prejudice, and outright assaults because of one’s physical nature were all too familiar to every Undead.  But for Azrael, such experiences were only the tip of the iceberg, for even amongst the Undead, Azrael was an outcast.

Azrael was a pyromancer, born with a natural affinity for manipulating his inner flame.  Sorcerers, clerics, and warriors all looked down upon him for both his ability and the strange featureless ring he wore.  For a long time, Azrael simply refused to even use it, until he met a strange woman in the Blighttown swamp.

This woman—who claimed to be Quelana, one of the daughters of Izalith herself—took it upon herself to force Azrael to embrace his talent.  After all, what we want to do and what we are good at are not always the same.

Azrael spent months training in that horrid swamp, even filthier than the Great Swamp where he was born, until finally he had learned all that Quelana had to teach.  From there, Azrael promised to avenge Quelana’s sisters, who had been horribly transformed when their mother, the Witch of Izalith, attempted to join her Great Soul with the First Flame to extend the Age of Fire.  Instead of kindling the First Flame, Izalith’s souls combusted, destroying her great city and transforming her citizens and family into flame-spewing monstrosities.

Azrael hunted down five of Quelana’s six sisters, her brother, and finally her mother, ending their torment once and for all.  But there was one sister he simply could not kill—Quelaan.

Like their sister Quelaag, Quelaan had been transformed into a terrifying half-woman, half-spider.  The two sisters, thinking the rest of their family doomed, moved to the edge of Blighttown, far enough to escape the hellfire but close enough to protect their family’s legacy from curious adventurers.

For decades, they lived in relative solitude, killing any adventurers who dared stray too far into the swamp.  But eventually the soft-hearted Quelaan took pity on the residents of the nearby village, constantly besieged by disease and plague.  Against her sister Quelaag’s orders, Quelaan sucked up the Blightpus, cleansing the village proper from disease at the cost of her vision.  Unfortunately, this very nearly killed Quelaan, and Quelaag was _furious_.  She moved Quelaan and the girl’s faithful servant Eingyi into a hidden passage deep within their lair and sealed it off from the rest of the world to protect Quelaan from her own mistakes.  From that moment forward, Quelaag no longer cared for scaring off adventurers—now they had to die, so that Quelaag could use the dregs of humanity in their corpses to heal her naïve sister.

Azrael’s ring allowed him to speak with Quelaan, and while the blind girl was largely ignorant of her situation, he was able to infer most of the details, and the pieces he missed, he learned from Quelana.

Azrael could not bring himself to murder such a kind woman, and told Quelana as much.  He would take Quelaag’s place, bringing Quelaan as much humanity as he could spare.  Eventually she recovered somewhat, but her wounds far exceeded his abilities.

Eventually, he had to move on, heartbroken that he could neither help Quelaan nor tell her the truth—his ring allowed him to understand the language of Chaos, but he could not speak it.  Before he left, Quelana confided in him that she had accepted her star pupil’s decision to spare her sister, and gave him a final gift before she left for parts unknown—the most destructive pyromancy to exist, the Fire Tempest.

* * *

After Azrael defeated the corpse of Gwyn and let the flames die out (for a time, at least), he traveled back to the Northern Undead Asylum where his journey had begun.  There a few nasty surprises were waiting for him, most notably a pair of Gwyn’s elite soldiers.

Peculiarly, he found a small doll in his old cell.  Sadly, he also found Oscar of Astora, the man who had freed him from that very same cell, completely Hollow, swinging his sword at the walls.  Azrael’s mercy only took a single stab to administer.

Holding the doll in his hands felt…right.  From there he travelled to Anor Londo for reasons he could not understand, and was kidnapped into a world inside a painting.  Several days later Azrael had fought his way through this facsimile of a castle, expecting a hard fight with a horrible demon to block his way out.  Instead, he found another innocent, terrified girl.  He found meaning in a dark, meaningless world.

He found Priscilla.  He would serve her for millennia, until that bastard Lautrec resurfaced. 

Eventually, Azrael’s hunt for Lautrec ran out of leads, and he decided it was time to leave Lordran.  He returned to Firelink Shrine to say farewell to his dear friend Laurentius—the only other pyromancer who could understand what Azrael went through—as well as deliver a final “go fuck yourself” to Patches.

Azrael went north, to Drangleic.  There, he found even more evidence of the cruelty of racism.  Undead were used as cannon fodder, hunted down like dogs, even locked up in research halls and experimented on.

* * *

After five years without any fights to the death, Azrael had become extremely restless.  It had been two years since Winter joined the Atlas military, and the two of them had not seen each other since then.  Azrael was eager to go on a scouting mission with his erstwhile pupil, if only to get some target practice in with his pyromancy.  Captain Sierra had managed to suppress any rumors as a favor for Azrael saving his life, and he didn’t trust anyone else but the Schnee daughters with his secret ability—although this world apparently had an abundance of individuals with strange powers, Azrael preferred not to advertise his strength, and got very few chances to use it as a result.

Twelve hours of silent tracking later, Azrael began to regret choosing the frozen forest north of the Schnee estate as a scouting mission.  He wasn’t bothered by the cold—a decade of fighting on the walls of Eleum Loyce made everything else feel toasty in comparison—but they had found absolutely nothing.  No bandits, creatures of Grimm, or even potential assassins to satiate his slowly growing hunger for a fight.

Finally, Winter broke the suffocating silence.  “Final sector clear.  Thanks for the help Azrael, even if it turned out to be a bust.”

 “Glad I could help.  I just wish we had found _something_ I could kill out here.”

“You do realize that this was a scouting mission, right?”

“Yes, but even so…” Azrael suddenly felt uneasy, as if the pair were being watched. _Why is my Darksign responding to…oh no._   He immediately crouched down behind a snowy embankment, praying that his intuition was wrong.  “Winter, head back to the mansion and tell Ironwood I need to speak with him. Now.”

“What are you talking about?” the specialist-in-training whispered, crouching next to her mentor, who had already drawn his sword.

“Do you remember the stories I would tell you and your sister?  Specifically, the one I told you, about the Black Knights?”

Winter thought back to the last night she had spent in her home before shipping off to Atlas.  She and Weiss had stayed up all night listening to Azrael’s war stories—that he made them promise never to tell anyone else, especially not their father.  She recalled the last story he told her, after Weiss had fallen asleep.  The Battle of the Painted World, he called it.  He was in the service of something name Velka (who or what Velka was, Azrael refused to explain, but he said that name with a reverence Winter had never heard him speak with before), protecting a woman named Priscilla, when an entire army of armored warriors even larger than himself assaulted their castle.  Azrael and his comrades fought bravely, and he personally slew over a hundred of them as they poured onto the battlefield.  But they were betrayed by one of their own—a scoundrel Azrael called “The King in Yellow”—and the castle fell.  Winter remembered how Azrael’s voice grew quiet, almost to a whisper, when he told her how the King had forced him to watch as two men, one wearing golden armor, the other covered in black spikes, butchered Priscilla in front of him, then stabbed him and threw him off of the nearest cliff.  Azrael told Winter that he only survived because he had been filled with hatred, losing almost everything that even made him human (a lie, but Azrael had decided it was better not to try and explain to Winter that he was, as far as he knew, literally unkillable).

“Yes, what of it? I thought those knights all died in the battle.”

“So did I, but I fear I was wrong.  We are being watched.”

Winter’s eyes darted to and fro, focusing intently on anything out of the ordinary, but Azrael grabbed her.  “I told you to report back to General Ironwood. Go now.”

“But I can help you fight whatever is out here!”

“Trust me, you will only slow me down.  Your scroll can capture video, correct?”

“Yes, but why…I see.” Winter took out her scroll, linked it to Azrael’s helmet and started recording, then handed it to Azrael.

“I will see you when I get back, Winter.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

Azrael glared pointedly at his former student.  “Have I ever broken a promise before? Now GO!”

Winter sped off, using her glyphs to travel back to the Schnee estate and report to Ironwood as fast as she could.

_Now it’s just me and you bastards.  This should be fun._

Azrael moved out from the cover of the snowbank and stood up straight, exposing his hulking form for all to see.  He placed the Grass Crest Shield on his back, making a mental note to thank Whitley for reminding him to take it with him once he got back, and raised Lucatiel’s sword up to shoulder height.

Azrael closed his eyes, allowing the sixth sense afforded to him by the Darksign to do its work.  Even though the knights’ pitch black armor would be extremely visible against the alabaster snow, he knew he would be able to sense them before he saw them.  _There you are.  And look, you brought friends._

Azrael slid behind the nearest tree and froze, waiting for the perfect moment to ambush the trio of reanimated armor sets (all wielding straight swords and large shields), unaware that a fourth Black Knight was preparing to do exactly the same to him.

* * *

 

It had ended almost as quickly as it had begun.  Azrael burst from his hiding spot and chopped the first Black Knight clean in two before it had even heard him move.  Moving with a speed born from thousands of battles over the years, he ran his sword through the second knight and kicked the third so hard that it fell backwards.  Seeing his opportunity, Azrael jumped onto the fallen armor’s shoulders and placed his hand over the area a face would have been (if it had any face to begin with), letting loose an enormous surge of fire from his Pyromancy Flame.  Feeling the long-overdue ecstasy of souls swarming into his body as the three knights and their weapons disintegrated, Azrael stood up straight and relaxed for the first time in months.

In fact, he was so relaxed that he didn’t notice the hidden fourth Black Knight approaching him until its halberd slashed across his back, sending him reeling across the ground and leaving a massive red stain in the snow.

Ignoring the searing pain and the blood spraying out from the enormous wound, Azrael clambered to his feet, readying his shield while frantically searching for his weapon.  The large sword had been knocked out of his hands by the savage blow, and Azrael finally saw it lying on the ground nearby.  He dashed over to it, barely deflecting another incoming blow from the Black Knight’s halberd with his shield.  He grabbed the sword’s hilt and yanked it out of the ground in a vain attempt to decapitate his adversary, but yet another powerful swing knocked the sword out of his hands again, and this time it embedded itself an entire foot deep into a nearby tree. _So much for a fair fight.  Time to get creative._

Azrael bashed his shoulder into the knight as hard as he could, catching it off guard, then dropped his shield and tried to wrest the halberd from its owner’s hand.  For nearly half a minute, the two ancient warriors grappled, kicked, and shoved each other, until finally Azrael came apart from the Black Knight with the halberd in his hands.  If he didn’t know better, Azrael would’ve sword he could smell the creature’s fear and resignation as it tried one final lunge with its shield, but Azrael was ready for it.  He ducked under the shield and swung upward with the enormous halberd, knocking the armor off its feet, then plunged the blade into its owner’s head, over and over again.

Weary from the fight, and yet feeling more alive than he had in years, Azrael watched as the possessed armor dissolved, expecting the same to happen to his new weapon.  When the halberd remained in his hands, Azrael grinned at his luck and began the long journey home, wincing as his adrenaline wore off and the massive gash across his back made itself known rather emphatically. _I really should’ve brought my flask_ , thought Azrael as he collapsed into the snow.

* * *

 

“And you just left?” yelled the man currently standing in front of a visibly shaken Winter Schnee inside her father’s study.

“Yes, sir.”

“Would you mind telling me why?”

“Azrael ordered me to report back to you immediately.  Considering his clear superiority in battle, I obeyed, trusting that he could handle whatever it was he thought was watching us. Sir.”

General James Ironwood scratched at his jawline, disturbed by this turn of events.  He knew almost nothing about Azrael, but Winter always spoke very highly of his combat abilities.  If he really was the one who trained her, then in all likelihood he could handle anything the Grimm could throw at him…but this mention of these so-called Black Knights concerned him deeply.  Was there really a faction of elite warriors hiding in the frigid mountains? And if they were hiding out there, could they be used to help fight the Grimm?

Ironwood’s reverie was broken when his assistant came into the study.  “Sir, we’re getting a signal from Ms. Schnee’s scroll.  You’ll want to see this.” Ironwood decided that any thoughts of an alliance could wait.  For right now, he had to see what is was that demanded his attention.  Ironwood took the scroll and dismissed his assistant, sending him from the room, setting the scroll to display mode.

The general and his protégé watched in awe as Azrael dismantled his enormous opponents with visible ease.  Ironwood had fought beside and against many skilled warriors, but this was on an entirely different plane of existence.  Azrael moved with a speed and confidence that Ironwood had never seen in his life—even Ozpin didn’t move like this.

Winter, for her part, was less astonished than her commanding officer (having been trained by the whirling vortex of death they now observed) but at that moment she realized that she would never surpass her teacher’s skill.  Winter finally understood why Azrael had always seemed preoccupied whenever they had sparred in the past—he wasn’t distracted, he was _bored._

When the fourth knight struck Azrael down, Ironwood gasped.  He began to move out the door to send a search party for Azrael, but Winter was already sprinting out the door, determined to save her first teacher.

* * *

 

An hour later, Winter had finally returned to the Schnee residence with Azrael’s battered form (and broken armor) slumped over her shoulder.  Shoving her father aside before he could ask questions, she motioned Captain Sierra over to help her.  The head of security immediately took Azrael’s unconscious form in his arms—the weight on his augmetic metal arm viscerally reminding Sierra of their first meeting—and rushed him to the medical ward.

Winter, confident that Azrael was in capable hands, ushered a curious Weiss away from the scene, but not before her young sister noticed the blood stains all over the courtyard (not to mention Winter’s jacket).

“Winter, what’s going on? What’s wrong with Azrael?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Weiss.  Go play with Whitley.”

“But he was bleeding all over! What’s happening?”

“Azrael got in a fight with some bad men, but he won, and the bad men aren’t going to hurt anybody anymore,” which was about as close to the truth as Winter was comfortable with. “Don’t worry, Azrael will be fine.  He promised me.”

At this, Weiss’s panicked expression softened.  She knew Azrael wouldn’t break a promise to either of them.  “Well, make sure to tell him he’s in big trouble for making me scared!”

Winter managed to force a smile at her little sister’s innocence—as if the little girl would ever be able to exact punishment on Azrael if he didn’t want her to!

Emotionally drained, exhausted, and covered in Azrael’s blood, Winter marched Weiss back to their room and promptly collapsed onto her old bed, her concerns about whatever those monsters were slipping away in the face of sleepy oblivion.

* * *

 

Azrael awoke with a start and jumped to his feet, scanning around himself for threats.  The last thing he remembered was fighting something.  _The Black Knights! Wait…I killed all four of them._   As he shook off the memory of that fight, Azrael finally looked at his surroundings and noticed that he was in a room filled with terrified nurses and doctors.  As his stance relaxed, the medical staff, wearing what Azrael recognized as a mix of Schnee medical personnel uniforms and Atlas military doctor scrubs, turned to each other and began murmuring.

“How is he awake so soon?”

“Forget awake, how is he even alive? He lost over a gallon of blood!”

“I wonder if he’s single?”

Azrael ignored them and made to leave the infirmary, but before he could, he felt a small hand tug at the waist of the medical gown he was wearing.  He stopped walking, turned to his right, and noticed Weiss staring at him angrily.

“You can’t just leave, you’re really hurt!  The doctors told me you’d be here for a month!”

Inwardly, Azrael laughed at the oddity of the situation.  He had just woken up from one of the fiercest battles he had fought in a decade, one in which he had singlehandedly kill four Black Knights, and yet here he was, cowed by a small child.  A child he had pledged his life and service to, who held more power in her soul than she could possibly imagine, but still just a child.

He decided it would be best to sit down on the nearest medical cot—a decision he immediately regretted when the cot collapsed under his weight.  One of the doctors, clearly struggling with Azrael’s massive torso, helped him up and back into his reinforced bed.  One of the downsides of weighing nearly a sixth of a ton, Azrael mused.

“So, Weiss, how long was I out?”

“A whole week, which means you owe me two more stories!” The little girl beamed, excited to hear more tales of war from the ancient fighter.

“What’s this about stories?” came a voice from the door.  Jacques had finally arrived in the medical ward.

“It’s nothing, Father.” Weiss’s eyes shot down to her feet.

“Have you been filling my daughter’s head with fairy tales AGAIN?”

“Yes.  What of it?”

“I already told you I don’t want her listening to any ridiculous tall tales!”

“I know what you said.  And I have never told her anything that wasn’t true.”  Azrael sat up straight in his bed.  Even sitting down, he was at eye level with the Dust baron, and Azrael took advantage of it, glaring at Jacques, daring him to make a move.  The Schnee patriarch backed down almost immediately, storming out of the medical wing in a huff, rushing past a bemused General Ironwood—flanked by Winter—on the way out.

“Doctors, nurses, Miss Schnee, I need a word with our friend.”  The medical staff dispersed, leaving the general alone in the room with Azrael and the two Schnee girls. “Miss Schnee, please, I have to talk to your friend.”

Weiss puffed up her chest and stared at the military man defiantly.  “No! He still owes me two bedtime stories!”  Ironwood stiffened, not noticing Winter nearly bursting out laughing behind him.

“It’s fine, Ironwood.  Let her stay,” Azrael chimed in.  “She already knows more about these things than you do anyway.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve been telling her stories about my past exploits for five years. She is more knowledgeable than anyone except Winter and myself about the Black Knights.”  At this, Weiss’s head swiveled around to meet Azrael.

“You fought a Black Knight! Ooh you gotta tell me about it!”

“Later, Weiss.  Now I need to let General Ironwood in on the secret.”  The little girl looked disappointed, but she was placated for the moment.  Azrael turned to the general.

“This will take quite a long time to explain.”

“This takes precedence over my other duties.  I’ve got all day.”

* * *

Azrael spent the next three hours explaining his journey through Lordran to the bewildered Atlas officer, in a heavily edited fashion.  He left out all the hundreds of deaths he suffered at the hands of Lordran’s monstrous menagerie, as well as the existence of Priscilla—best not to give the general any reason to be suspicious of Azrael’s oath to Weiss.

For the entire time, Weiss and Winter sat next to Azrael, listening just as intently as Ironwood—while they could tell he was hiding a lot from the general, they had never heard Azrael tell the entire thing from cover to cover, so to speak.

After Azrael explained how he had been teleported to Remnant against his will (glossing over about 14,500 years of his personal history for the general’s sake), Azrael slumped back down in his bed, exhausted from talking for so long.

Ironwood simply stared in shock at the tale he had just heard.  He was shocked not because of how long the story was, nor how insane it sounded, but because the general absolutely believed every word.  Azrael was a man who simply would not lie, Ironwood could feel it in the core of his being.  Finally, his brain managed to form enough words to ask questions.

“So why are these Black Knights in the mountains of Atlas? I thought they all died in the Kiln?”

“Apparently not all of them.  I’m not sure how, but I think they followed me in the same manner that Winter summoned me here in the first place.  It just took them longer to show up.”  Looking at the general, Azrael didn’t need to hear the next question.  “Relax, general.  If any more were in Remnant, I would know about it.”

“How can you be sure?”

 _Well, now is as good a time as any, I guess._   “I left out a key part of my story.  It is a brand on my shoulder known as the Darksign.  It allows me to sense when other creatures from Lordran are around.  When the Black Knights appeared, their presence screamed at me like a beacon in the night.  Trust me, they’re gone now.”

“That’s quite a relief.”  Ironwood turned to Winter. “Schnee, you have the rest of the day off.  I recommend you spend it preparing to leave.  I have decided to promote you to Specialist.”  Winter’s eyes lit up.

“Really, sir?”

“Absolutely.  Without your quick action, Azrael here would have died out there.  We will be leaving at 0600 tomorrow morning. Goodbye, Azrael. Miss Schnee.” Ironwood bowed to Weiss and walked sharply out of the room, leaving the Schnee sisters with their injured protector.

Winter quickly followed her superior out the door—after a quick apology to both Weiss and Azrael—and went to her room to pack.

Weiss looked at Azrael, eyes beaming.  “Now you HAVE to tell me another story!”

Azrael groaned and threw his head back into his pillow.


	5. Training Day

Lucatiel was furious.  “What do you mean ‘He vanished’?”

“It is as I said.  One moment Azrael was speaking with the Fire Keeper, the next he began to glow bright white.  And then he was gone.”  Karla seemed to shrink at the swordswoman’s wrath.

“And it took you _how long_ to get here exactly?”

“About six years.”

Lucatiel took several deep breaths to calm herself before rubbing her forehead.  She knew that Azrael would never forgive her if she harmed Karla, but for an instant the Mirrah knight thought that it might be worth it.

Her violent fantasies were interrupted when Vengarl rose from the seemingly bottomless pit in the center of Majula.  “What in the hell is going on?”

“Azrael is missing, apparently,” Lucatiel said, her voice dripping with malice towards the child of Dark that cowered between the two warriors.

“And did Karla kidnap him?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Then I see no reason to terrify the poor girl.  You know what she’s been through, and you know that Azrael trusts her implicitly.  If she says she got here as fast as she could, then I believe her and so should you.”  Lucatiel’s expression softened somewhat— _Vengarl has a point; after all, the girl can’t use bonfires to travel like we can_ —before turning hard as steel as she considered what their next course of action was.

“So what do you suggest we do now?  If he actually has been taken against his will, he may need some help.”

The enormous mercenary nodded.  “We will have to figure out how he was taken, then where.  And then we follow him.  I will go to the Bastille and consult with Straid.  Karla, please go with Lucatiel and tell Shanalotte all that you know—the dragon woman may have some insight as to how we move forward.”  Lucatiel nodded and gestured to the witch to follow.

“A solid plan, but first I will let Pate know that his shift just doubled.”  _At least **he**_ _doesn’t have any issues being near the girl,_ thought Lucatiel.

“Then it’s settled.  I won’t take long.”  Vengarl was not exactly on great terms with the old wizard, but hopefully the arrogant bastard would have some useful knowledge.

* * *

Azrael had finally resumed his usual duties in the Schnee home after another three weeks in the medical wing.  Every night, Weiss bothered him for more stories, and Azrael was happy to oblige—although if the girl kept this up, he would soon run out of true events to tell her.  The girl’s appetite for knowledge was almost as voracious as Big Hat Logan’s.  Azrael smiled as he imagined Logan’s joy at finding a mind more suited to learning than his actual pupil, Griggs of Vinheim.  The Undead warrior’s smile faded as quickly as it had come when he thought about how Logan had met his end.  Azrael had never been one for sorcery, and so avoided learning anything from Seath’s massive library, but Logan had no such qualms.  The genius sorcerer was eventually driven mad by the very knowledge he sought to obtain, and Azrael was forced to kill yet another close friend of his.

Scattering such thoughts from his mind, Azrael walked out into the courtyard where he had first appeared half a decade before, where Weiss was waiting for him with an impatient gleam in her eyes.

The day before last, Jacques had finally acquiesced to the urging of both Weiss and Azrael himself and allowed Weiss to begin training with Azrael in the art of swordplay.

Azrael had thought long and hard about how best to approach the lesson, since he had only ever had Winter as a pupil, and decided to provide Weiss with one of his own weapons for the time being.  He chose to supply Weiss with one of his own weapons, a simple estoc, although he decided against giving her a reinforced version.  Unlike the people of Remnant, Azrael did not possess an aura, so he had to rely on speed and armor to prevent injuries—while at the same time, he had to ensure that he did not accidentally injure Weiss.  At least they would not have to worry about that until they started sparring in earnest.

Another difficulty Azrael faced: unlike Winter, the younger Schnee daughter was left-handed.  He would have preferred to train that bad habit out of her, but Weiss was strangely proud of her oddity.  Azrael would have to teach the preteen how to perfectly execute strikes with a sword in complete reverse, and he was not entirely certain it could be done.

 _On the other hand, the only other left-handed fighter I’ve ever faced was…impressive, to say the least_ , Azrael mused, thinking back to that corrupted warrior he had struck down—and later avenged—so many years before.

Silencing his wandering thoughts, Azrael focused himself on the task at hand and the expectant young girl he now faced.  As he explained to Weiss that today they would train in the very basics of sword stance and form, he could see the girl’s excitement dim somewhat.  Clearly, Weiss had anticipated that she would be sparring with Azrael today, and the idea almost made Azrael laugh out loud.  Taking care to mirror his instructions for the southpaw student, Azrael began turning the little girl into a warrior

* * *

Azrael’s method of training was brutal.  In addition to two hours practicing her Semblance as Azrael observed and took mental notes, Weiss and her teacher were spending four hours every day in the cold with no fire to warm them, no break to go inside, and no coats to shield them from the winds.  Instead, Azrael had quickly made Weiss a set of short-sleeved chainmail that fit her small frame, forgoing the usual Atlas student uniforms and their relative protection from the elements.  To ensure that the proud girl never complained, Azrael removed every piece of armor from his body, along with all his clothing except for a pair of shorts provided by the Schnee’s family servant, Klein.  As far as Azrael was concerned, any teacher unwilling to experience their own training regimen didn’t deserve their students.

As the days turned into weeks and months, Azrael and Weiss trained until the girl could barely stand up, and spent the evenings catching up on her studies and occasionally sharing her thoughts with Azrael.  After five years of service, Azrael had already grown fond of the young girl, but now she was finally able to share with him her deeper hopes and fears—Weiss wanted to see the world and help others, but feared that her father would never allow her to leave the family business, especially since Winter had left for the Atlas military.

Bit by bit, Weiss steadily improved, until finally, after nearly a year of training, Azrael decided she was ready to begin light sparring matches with him.  He donned his tight-fitting black leather armor while Weiss put on her “combat skirt”, as she called it.  Azrael knew enough about Weiss to take it easy on her, using a basic shortsword (and not even one of his own; he requested one from a local blacksmith) and no shield. 

However, Weiss’s weapon was another matter.  Azrael had been working with Atlas engineers on loan from Ironwood, who was glad to help in the training of Weiss in any way he could, to create a weapon specifically designed for Weiss.  Finally, they came up with a design that satisfied Azrael’s high standards.  The weapon would be a rapier, but designed only to be wielded in the left hand.  To augment Weiss’s natural affinity for using Dust, it would have a revolving cartridge chamber in the hilt guard to store Dust.  But the coup de grace was Azrael’s modification: rather than simply storing the Dust, this rapier would have a small channel inside the blade that would compress the dust and expel it at extreme pressure, allowing the wielder to create walls of ice, swathes of flame, or any other effect one might need on the battlefield.  In order to maintain the weapon’s structural integrity, Azrael used the last remaining twinkling titanite stones in his possession, left over after he had upgraded the Black Knight Halberd he had acquired.

All great weapons need a name, so Azrael allowed Weiss to choose.  She named the weapon “Myrtenaster”.

As the match progressed, Azrael made sure to punish any deviations in form, a swift strike with the flat of the blade usually sufficed to correct Weiss’s error.

The training continued on like this for another three years, with Azrael gradually increasing the tempo and intensity of the matches.  By the time Weiss turned fifteen, Azrael was both confident in her abilities to protect herself, and damn proud of the progress she had made.

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end eventually, and Azrael knew it was time.

* * *

Weiss woke up, ready for another day of practicing her glyphs and combat skills with Azrael.  As the young woman took a shower, she thought about how she would try to best Azrael today.  _Not that it’s going to help.  He always manages to deflect every strike, as if he can tell what I’m going to do before I do._

It had never bothered Weiss that she had yet to actually land a strike on her teacher.  She just assumed that she would eventually become fast enough to hit him—but until that day Weiss would use every strategy she could to beat her teacher.

Weiss got out of the shower and began to dress, eager for the day to begin, when she noticed a scrap of paper on her desk.  It was her father’s stationary, but the handwriting was very sloppy, as if belonging to someone who had only recently learned how to write.

**Weiss, I am afraid your training has come to an end.  Meet me in the foyer. -Azrael**

Throwing on the first blouse and skirt she could grab, Weiss sprinted out of her room and made for the large room in the front of the mansion.  There, she saw Azrael, clad in his full combat gear, speaking with General Ironwood— _why is he even here?_ —and her father.

“Wait! Azrael!” Weiss yelled out, making the general and her father nearly jump out of their shoes.  “Where are you going?”

The Undead waved off the older men, indicating he wished to speak with his student in private.

“I’m afraid I have to leave now, Weiss.” Azrael felt a wave of guilt at the heartbroken expression on Weiss’s face, but he knew she would be fine.

“But I still need you to train me!”

“No, you don’t.  You have more skill than you know what to do with.  Keep training, and in two years, decide whether or not you want to stay here in Atlas.”

Weiss grew quiet, shocked nearly to tears by her teacher’s praise.  After several seconds, she found her voice again.  “Where are you going?”

“I’ve heard a lot from you and your father about these creatures of Grimm, but Atlas is so well defended by the mountains that I’ve never actually fought one.  I think I’ll travel to one of the other kingdoms and correct that.”  Azrael watched Weiss’s eyes widen.

“You’re seriously just going to leave me here just so you can go kill a few Grimm?”

“I never said it would only be a few.  I will be travelling to a place called the Emerald Forest, on the outskirts of the Kingdom of Vale.  Goodbye, Weiss.  I hope to see you again.”  With that, Weiss’s enormous teacher turned and left without another word.

Weiss stood in the foyer in shock for nearly five minutes before she had a revelation.

_“Decide whether or not you want to stay here in Atlas.”_

_“I will be travelling to…the outskirts of…Vale.”_

The largest smile Weiss had ever made broke out across her face.  She couldn’t wait for her seventeenth birthday, when she would apply to Beacon Academy, in the Kingdom of Vale.


	6. An Opportunity Arises

Ozpin looked at the intelligence again, but it still didn’t make any sense.  For the last year and a half, creatures of Grimm had been flooding into the Emerald Forest, making it too dangerous to send any scouts too far in, for fear of his men’s safety.  But Grimm attacks in the surrounding areas hadn’t just decreased, they had stop entirely.  It was as if the Grimm were being lured into the forest and off the edge of a cliff to die.  His scouts had even reported seeing a medium-sized goliath entering the forest, never to be seen again.  Finally, a week earlier, the migration had ceased, but the enormous number of Grimm already present in the forest prevented the gathering of any substantial intelligence on the situation.

The headmaster of Beacon Academy had been called a great many things in his lifetime, but “complacent” had never been one of them.

He needed to know what was happening, but the only people he believed up to the task were busy either tracking down the woman manipulating the White Fang, leading the armies of Atlas, or teaching at Ozpin’s school.  Ozpin only saw two choices: either send Glynda in to perform reconnaissance, or leave his post at Beacon Tower for the first time in ages.  And he refused to leave his post, so this job fell to Glynda Goodwitch, his second-in-command.  It looked like Professor Port would be pulling double teaching duty for the next week.

Ozpin only hoped his coffee would last until Glynda returned.  The faculty room coffee was disgusting.

* * *

Vengarl couldn’t believe it.  Straid had finally managed a breakthrough.  Soon they would be able to not only learn how Azrael had been taken, but they might also be able to follow him to wherever he had gone.

That is, if the knight didn’t murder Straid first.  It was an open secret amongst Azrael’s followers that the two men hated each other.  Vengarl’s humble, reserved manner openly clashed with the powerful sorceror’s bombastic arrogance.  _Really, ‘Let’s hope the magnificence of my spells does not deter you’? Who talks like that?_

Putting aside his distaste for the smaller man, Vengarl went inside Drangleic Manor, where Shanalotte and Karla had spent the last five years poring through ancient tomes.  The enormous knight found the pair of women and brought them to Lenigrast’s old house, where Straid had set up shop (after a very persuasive meeting of his neck and Vengarl’s swords).

“Explain it to them, and make it quick,” Vengarl snapped at the sage, hoping to leave the conversation as quickly as possible.

“Of course, my young child!” Straid turned to Karla with an almost predatory glance and continued, “You see, witch, you were able to find us from tens of thousands of leagues away, despite never having been to Majula before, or indeed Drangleic as a whole, correct?”

The woman nodded, a small figment of understanding forming in her mind.

“As far as I can tell, Azrael was summoned in much the same manner as an Undead would summon another to aid in battle.  If that is true, you can use one of the white soapstones from the manor to ‘track’ our Lord, so to speak.”

Karla couldn’t believe it.  After eleven years apart, she would finally be able to help save the man who had saved her so many years before.  But Shanalotte was quick to douse Karla’s rising hope.

“Neither Karla nor I can sense so much as a flicker of Azrael’s soul.  How can you be so sure that this will work?”

“You dare to doubt my magnificent discovery?  Dear child, you are a being of pure Light, made by men.  Karla is pure Dark, cast out by the death of Manus.  But Azrael is not simply a being of Dark like myself or the intrepid Vengarl here.  He is Unkindled.  He holds both the flame of the ancient Lords and the smothering, suffocating Dark within him.  You were able to sense him before he left this world because his Light shone like a beacon in this Age of Dark, and Karla could sense .  The two of you will infuse part of your strength into a single soapstone, and then you will use it to locate him!  Now be gone!  I have preparations to make for this ritual.”

The two women returned to the manor to rest in preparation for the ritual, and Vengarl headed next door to Shalquoir’s house to give Lucatiel the good news.

* * *

 

As Azrael hacked yet another Beowulf to pieces with his halberd, he noticed two things.  First, he realized that killing these beasts had finally gotten boring.  Somewhat disturbingly, they didn’t even have souls for him to absorb—so that was at least one thing Jacques had not lied about.  The Schnee patriarch had told Azrael a great many lies over the last decade in an attempt to recruit the Undead warrior as a security employee for his family’s Dust company.  Azrael saw through every lie—he had several millennia of experience on that front.

The second part was that he was being watched from somewhere.  His Darksign couldn’t sense anything particularly close, and the creatures of Grimm that were currently surrounding him made his more pedestrian senses useless in locating the uninvited observer.  _Maybe I should give them a show._ Taking a deep breath, Azrael killed the nearest Beowulf with a quick bash of his shield into its skull, then carefully lay his shield at his feet and plunged his halberd deep into the ground.  All the while, the pack of Beowolves surrounding Azrael began to swell as more of the soulless beasts were drawn to the commotion—there were even a few bearlike Ursae preparing to rip this interloper limb from limb.

It had been such a long while since Azrael had last gotten an opportunity to show off, and he intended to take full advantage.

* * *

Glynda watched from a distance, driven speechless by utter shock as the seven-foot-tall warrior disarmed himself and proceeded to eviscerate an entire pack of Beowolves and Ursae with his bare hands.  How could anyone be so skilled and so arrogant at the same time?

More importantly, where was his aura?  Glynda took pride in her ability to sense other people’s auras, but this man appeared to be fighting without any aura at all!  _Perhaps he simply hasn’t had it unlocked yet.  That’s probably why he wears so much heavy armor and yet moves as if he was wearing cloth robes._   Glynda decided she would bide her time for the moment and simply observe.  If this warrior truly appeared to need help, then she would reveal herself—although the veteran Huntress suspected that he already knew she was watching.

Ozpin _definitely_ needed to meet this man.

Soon all that remained of the once enormous pack was a few barely surviving Beowolves and a single wounded Ursa.  The warrior walked up to each of them before reaching down and slitting their throats in a deliberate, almost methodical manner.  The way he carried out this action shocked Glynda even more than his abilities or his strange appearance.  It was as if, now that the fight was finished, he was simply going through the motions—almost like he was irked by the Grimm’s insistence on surviving his attacks.  Glynda braced herself, realizing that now was as good a time as any to reveal herself.  But before she even took a single step, the warrior’s helmeted head pivoted towards her, almost like an automated turret locking on to a new target.  Almost immediately he relaxed and moved to pick up his equipment, fastening his shield to his back and effortlessly removing his enormous halberd-like spear from the ground before he removed his helmet, revealing pale blue skin and a face marred with an enormous scar running from the left side of his forehead down to the front of his jawline—as if someone had attempted (and nearly succeeded) in peeling off half of his face.  But much more interesting than the scar was this fighter’s apparent age.  Beneath the scar, the strange skin color, and the mop of unruly black hair on top of his head, this man looked to be only a few years older than Glynda’s first-year students—if she had to guess, the professor would have placed his age at no more than 24 years old.  He spoke in a deep, gravelly voice as Glynda stood rooted in place.

“Why are you here?  Are you going to try to kill me?  You don’t really seem the type.”  Glynda scoffed at this, her indignation finally overcoming her indecisiveness.

“Excuse me, sir, but what do you mean I don’t ‘really seem the type’? I could have easily ambushed and killed you.”

“Very unlikely on both counts.  If you had any strategic sense, you would have attacked me at the same time the two Ursa had.  And even then, I would have survived.”

“How can you be so confident about that? I am an experienced Huntress, while you are barely more than half my age.”  At this, the strange young man burst out laughing, a hearty chuckle that chilled Glynda to her core.  “And what exactly is so funny?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just…you know what, never mind.  If you need to know, you will.  Now then, I assume you have questions, but understand that I will not answer if I don’t think the answer is necessary for you to hear.”

“You’re not wrong, even if you are uncouth.   First, where do you hail from?”

“I can’t answer that.”  Glynda sighed.

“Why don’t you have aura?”

“I can’t answer that either, it is a personal matter.”

“Fine.  What are you doing in the Emerald Forest?”

“Is it not obvious? Killing these creatures—although their numbers finally seem to have diminished as of late.”

“Do you intend to harm anyone at Beacon?”

“Not if they don’t attack me.”  Glynda could sense no malice or deceit from the man; it seemed his answers were genuine, and for the moment, that was enough for her.

“That’s enough questions.  You are correct that the beasts’ numbers have been dying off.  Apparently they have learned their lesson about wandering near you.  But as to my reason for following you, I believe my employer would almost certainly want to speak with you.”

“I will consider it.  But first I need something from you.”

Wondering what exactly this “something” would entail, Glynda reluctantly responded.  “What exactly do you mean?”

“I need a small building where I can work on my weapons and armor.”

“You want…a house?”

“Nothing so ostentatious; I do not require creature comforts such as a bed.  I simply need four walls, a small forge, and an anvil.  Some of my armor has become dented and cracked over time.”

“Beacon Academy has a state of the art facility for creating and repairing weapons and armor, we could move you into an empty room in the faculty dormitory.”

Azrael took a moment to think; this could work.  He would have a room to leave items that would weigh him down.  It was always good to have a hub to come back to, after all.  “I accept your offer.  I will follow you to this employer of yours.” Glynda sighed in relief.

“This way please.”

* * *

Ozpin furrowed his brow.  “So, you worked for Mr. Schnee?”

“Not exactly.  Technically speaking, I didn’t work for anybody.  I was not paid in money.”

“Room and board is still payment.”

“Even so, I don’t want anyone to think I ever worked for that intolerable man.”

Ozpin chuckled at this—partly because he was surprised that such a young man had so much pride, but mostly because he knew Azrael was completely right.  Jacques Schnee was an arrogant jackass if there ever was one.

“Your secret is safe with me then.  So. Back to the matter at hand, how did you survive in the Emerald Forest? The Grimm don’t usually leave much livestock around to hunt, and that forest is not known for its plentiful foliage.”

“Personal secret, I’m afraid.”  Ozpin’s good humor vanished.  This was going nowhere fast.

“You’re going to have to give me something to justify letting you stay here.  My assistant Glynda tells me you’re quite the warrior.”

Azrael gave the headmaster a strange look.  “And why is that relevant?”

“It is relevant because according to her, you fought without using aura.  How is that possible?”  There it was, the question Azrael knew he couldn’t avoid.

“I learned to fight without relying on it.”

“This isn’t a matter of reliance; your aura was non-existent during the fight.”

Azrael’s face hardened as he struggled to find the right words.  “It’s a…well, I don’t have any.”

Ozpin nearly dropped his coffee cup at this.  “Excuse me?”

“I have no aura.  I cannot tell you why, but please don’t let this out.”

Ozpin managed to recover somewhat gracefully.  “You won’t need to worry about any ridicule in this institution, at Beacon we pride ourselves on our tolerance towards other people’s…differences.”

Ozpin once again furrowed his brow, as if in deep thought.  After several seconds, he hit upon an idea.

“How would you like to teach a class here, starting next semester?”

“What sort of class? I can barely read or write, it was not necessary for me to learn until a few years ago, and I have not kept up with it very well.”

“This class won’t require any of that.  I want you to teach my students how to fight.  Ms. Goodwitch’s class provides combat training, but she is only one person, and every student in this school needs to learn these skills.”

Thinking back on how much he had enjoyed training Weiss, Azrael didn’t hesitate.  This way he would be able to keep an eye on the goings on of the students—one student in particular, Azrael hoped—without drawing any undue suspicion.

“I’ll do it.”


	7. Duels and Secrets

Yang couldn’t believe it.  Her baby sister had made it into Beacon!  They had both passed the initiation with flying colors, and now they would even be on the same team.  At first Yang was disappointed that none of her old friends from Signal had made it onto her team, but she would still hang out with them on the weekends.  For now, she and her teammates had classes to pick.

“I thought there was only one combat class, with that Glynda lady?” Ruby asked Yang and Blake (Weiss was currently taking most of the hot water in their shower, leafing through the course catalog.  The girls had been given a week to decide which specific classes they would take, although there wasn’t too much that they hadn’t expected.  History of Remnant with Oobleck.  Grimm Biology with Port.  Botany with Peach.  But there was one class that none of them had ever even heard about.

“Apparently, there’s a new teacher this year,” Blake chimed in from behind her book.  “It makes sense.  Beacon has a lot of students and Professor Goodwitch can’t be expected to teach every one of us.”

“But what does that name mean?” Ruby wondered aloud as her partner finally left the bathroom and Yang took her turn.

“What name are you talking about?”

“Ruby and I were just wondering about one of the classes this year.  Nobody we’ve asked has ever heard of the teacher and no one knows what to expect.  No one even knows the professor’s last name.”

“Interesting.  What is this mystery class called?” Weiss asked, curious as to what could possibly confuse her insufferably well-informed teammate.

“Combat Without Aura.”

Weiss’s eyes lit up at the name and she practically lunged for the catalog in Ruby’s hands.  “Let me see that!”  As she ripped the booklet out of her leader’s hands, Weiss could barely contain herself.  _It couldn’t possibly be him, could it?  I thought I would have to go searching for him all year!_   As she scanned the page and found the course listing, she could no longer contain her joy.  It was real.  Weiss beamed out an enormous smile, so happy that she would see her old friend again.  Ruby and Blake stared slack jawed at their teammate, whose emotional range up to this point seemed to be stuck somewhere between aloofness and outright arrogance.

But Weiss didn’t care.  She would get to train with Azrael again—even if it was in a classroom setting with many other students—and she was ecstatic.

* * *

Next door, Team JNPR was discussing the exact same class as their friends, with considerably less subtlety on the part of at least one student.

“Renny, can you believe it? Somebody is actually going to teach us how to fight without aura, that’s so strange!  I wonder who the teacher is? I hope it’s not Port.  Or Oobleck.  It can’t be Glynda, since she’s already teaching the normal Combat Training class.  Oh, maybe it’s Peach! Or…MAYBE OZPIN!”  Ranted a hyperactive orange-haired girl to her long-suffering partner.  Thankfully, one of her other teammates stopped the off-the-rails freight train of thought that the girl was currently aboard.

“Nora, it says right here who the teacher is, somebody named ‘Professor Azrael’.”

“But Pyrrha, that could be a code name! Or a fake name!”

The redhead sighed at her new friend’s indefatigable energy, and marveled at Ren’s patience.  How could that poor boy have survived growing up with her?

The bathroom door opened and their team leader walked out already fully clothed, having brought his change of clothes into the bathroom with him.  Pyrrha giggled to herself at the boy’s shyness.

“Nora, please just calm down.  Are you sure that you want to take that class? It is the same time as Goodwitch’s, so we have to pick one.”

“You’re no fun, Jauney!  Maybe we could make a time machine and take BOTH!”

Jaune sighed, Pyrrha laughed again, and Ren threw his head into the pillow, embracing the sweet release of sleep.

* * *

This was an interesting development for Cinder.  Apparently, there was a new professor, and one that even Emerald couldn’t find any information on.  It was as if this person had simply appeared out of nowhere.  This required her attention, but between keeping Roman and the White Fang on a tight leash, looking for potential candidates for the Vytal Festival…activities, and working on her Red Queen virus, she was stretched thin at the moment.

“Mercury, be a doll and sign up for this ‘Combat Without Aura’ class, would you?”  The dark-haired boy nodded to his leader, curious himself about this new teacher.  Cinder turned to the green-haired girl leaning against the door to their dorm room.  “Emerald, keep digging around, there has to be _something_ about this new professor somewhere.  If they catch wind of us, our plan could become compromised.”

Despite her warning, Cinder was secretly hopeful.  Perhaps they could turn this new player on to their team.  Salem would be very pleased, and even that insufferable Watts would have to admit Cinder’s success.

* * *

The following Tuesday, teams RWBY and JNPR filed into a classroom for their new combat training class, noticing that several teams of second years had also decided to see what the fuss was all about.  While most of the eight friends wondered where they should sit, Weiss immediately took a seat in the very front of the classroom, almost bouncing with excitement.  The classroom’s structure bore a striking similarity to Professor Port’s room from the previous day, where they had barely managed to remain conscious for the full ninety minutes of class.  However, the similarities began and ended there.

The room itself had no windows, lit only by the ceiling’s fluorescent lighting.  The wall in front, where most teachers would put up sketches of important topics for the year, was completely unadorned—it didn’t even have a blackboard.  Instead, the wall was completely covered in weapons and shields from floor to ceiling—swords, spears, bows, axes, and several strange-looking objects none of the first-years (save for one visibly excited heiress) had even seen before.  Pyrrha looked at the enormous collection of weaponry hanging on the wall for several seconds before everyone’s gaze was drawn to a glass case on the left side of the room, fastened with a very sturdy-looking lock.

Inside the case was one of the most beautiful swords any of the students had ever seen.  It was a katana similar to Blake’s Gambol Shroud, but much longer and clearly much older.  The blade itself was nearly four feet of shimmering black steel connected to a beautifully crafted hilt.  The handle was covered in crisscrossed black cloth except for the very end, which had been wrapped in a silk sash so red it even gave Pyrrha’s hair a run for its money.  Next to the weapon lay its scabbard, made of black leather embroidered with strange red cloth patterns.

The entire class nearly jumped out of their own skins when the door was slammed closed.  Looking over to the source of the noise, everybody shrank into their chairs at the sight of their enormous teacher.  _He’s even larger than Yatsuhashi,_ Pyrrha mused as she found her seat between Jaune and Nora.  It seemed that the hammer-wielding girl’s rabid questions about the newest faculty member had finally been answered.  Without a word, the blue-skinned behemoth strode to the front of the class, taking a moment to nod towards Weiss, much to everyone’s surprise.  It was so quiet, Pyrrha thought she might be able to hear a pin drop.

Finally, after almost a minute of complete silence, Azrael began to speak.  “I assume no one is here by mistake?”  Seeing no response, he decided to start with introductions.  “I am Azrael, and I may be your combat teacher this year.  I would prefer if you not call me ‘Professor’, as I have no use for the title.” Azrael looked around and could tell that the students were still not warming up to him.  _Maybe this will help them calm down a bit…_ “In fact, it is very likely that everyone in this room is far more knowledgeable than myself in many subjects.  I only learned to read and write three years ago, out of necessity.”  Many of the students blanched at this.  Their combat teacher could barely read? How would he use a scroll or even grade their performance?

Pyrrha, however, was more interested in the man’s choice of words.  Bracing herself for the worst, she raised her hand.

“Yes, Miss…?”

“Nikos, sir.  Pyrrha Nikos.”

“Thank you.  Yes, Miss Nikos?”

“What did you mean when you said you ‘may’ be our teacher? We have all signed up for this class.”

 _Well, I was going to have to get to that eventually.  Better now than later._ “You must earn your right to attend this class.  That is what we will be doing today.  I will be assessing each of your individual skills in combat.  The matches will last until either party lands a single blow upon the other.”  Azrael noticed that every student except Weiss had come in the Beacon uniform—clearly, they did not expect to have to fight on their first day.  “But first, I want everyone to fetch their weapons and armor, as you will obviously need them for this.”

Everyone left for the equipment lockers, looking shocked that they would be fighting so soon.  Upon their return, Ruby spoke up without raising her hand.  Something had been bothering her about this entire situation.

“Hi, Mister Azrael, I’m Ruby Rose.  How will you be able to tell how good we all are if the matches end after one hit? When my sister and I train, we hit each other all the time!”  A murmur of assent rippled through the dozens of students in the room.

“It’s very simple, Miss Rose.  I will not count any firearm impacts as legitimate hits, and you will not be sparring with each other.”  Many of the students gave confused looks at this, while Blake and Ren’s eyes both went wide.

“You will each be sparring against me.”

* * *

Jaune was very nervous, and watching five of his friends’ tryouts with their gigantic teacher had not helped in the slightest.  Each match lasted exactly three minutes, but only because Azrael did not even attempt to strike his opponent until 180 seconds has passed.

Ruby had volunteered to go first, and used her semblance in an attempt to catch him off guard, moving so quickly she was only a blur, but Azrael—who apparently did not even have a weapon—either dodged every blow with ease or simply swatted her scythe aside with his bare hands.

It was like he knew what attacks Ruby was going to use before she did.

After Ruby, Cardin Winchester stepped up to the plate, confident that he could do better than the little girl.  Instead of trying to outmaneuver the teacher, the large boy adopted a more straightforward approach, swinging his mace as hard as he could to try and break through Azrael’s guard.  Within thirty seconds, Cardin was huffing and puffing, barely able to catch his breath.  Two and a half minutes later, Azrael delivered a light palm strike to Cardin’s chest that sent him flying into the far wall.

Nora.  Yang.  Blake.  Ren.  None of them could so much as touch him.  One fighter came close: a tall, dark-haired boy named Mercury.  Azrael seemed legitimately surprised at Mercury’s choice of weapon—his boots had shotguns built into them, much like Yang’s Ember Celica gauntlets.  But within seconds, Azrael had adjusted, and for the rest of the match the professor ran circles around the boy before taking him out with a soft punch to the gut.

Finally, there were only two students remaining besides Jaune: Pyrrha and Weiss.  The redhead turned to her team leader and nudged him with her elbow, hoping to coerce him into volunteering, but it was unnecessary.

“Since there are only three remaining students, I will pick the order.  Boy, you are first.  What is your name?”

Jaune stumbled to the front of the room, hearing Cardin and his lackeys loudly snickering.  Azrael heard it too.

“Excuse me, Mr. Winchester, do you find something funny?  Perhaps you and your friends would like a second match?”  The blood drained from team CRDL’s faces and Pyrrha smiled in spite of herself, silently enjoying watching that quartet of jerks being put in their place.

Azrael turned back to the boy in front of him, who was almost visibly shaking.  “Calm yourself, I am not in the habit of killing students.  Now what is your name?”

“J-J-Jaune Arc, sir.”

“Alright Mister Arc, let’s begin.”  Azrael raised his fists into a fighting stance.  Clearly this boy was not a threat to him, he didn’t even come close, but he would still afford the Arc boy the same respect owed to any duelist.

Jaune nervously raised Crocea Mors and ran towards Azrael, praying to the Maidens that it would end quickly.  Azrael made sure that it ended exactly as quickly as every other match.

* * *

“Ms. Nikos, you are next.”

Inwardly, the redhead cursed.  Pyrrha had hoped to go very last; the longer she watched him fight, the better chance she had of countering his attacks.  As she made her way down to the front of the classroom, Pyrrha tried to make sense of the teeacher’s fighting style, but nobody had lasted long enough for Azrael to demonstrate it.

Then again, nobody else in class was a four-time world champion fighter, Pyrrha thought before she chided herself.  The Grimm wouldn’t care about those medals, so neither should she.

Azrael was slightly surprised to see the girl bow to him.  Nobody else had thought to do it—most of them were either too scared of him, too sure of themselves, or too focused on their strategies to think of it.  The Undead warrior gladly returned the bow with a deep bow of his own, and the match began.

Immediately, Azrael realized that Pyrrha was far ahead of her classmates’ skill level.  Every strike lead into another strike in some way.  Feints, testing his agility, every move the girl made had a purpose.  _And here I thought I was going to have to feel sorry for this girl._

The class watched slack-jawed as Pyrrha chased Azrael around the arena for three minutes, then tensed up as they saw the clock reach 180 seconds.  Azrael dove sideways, then rebounded with what was sure to be a devastating uppercut.

The entire room gasped as Azrael’s fist made contact with Pyrrha’s shield.  Even Azrael was surprised.  Capitalizing on his moment of hesitation, Pyrrha drove her spear downward in an attempt to strike the teacher’s unguarded back.  Azrael quickly rolled sideways, but not before the edge of Pyrrha’s weapon grazed his side, drawing a small amount of blood.  Azrael immediately stood up and raised his hand, indicating the match was over.

“I would like to offer you both congratulations and an apology, Miss Nikos.  You recognized my strategy and anticipated my strike.  Capitalizing on my surprise, you managed to land a hit on me.  I am seriously impressed.  You are far more skilled than I originally gave you credit for.”  Azrael bowed to the victor, happy to see that he would have at least two truly talented students.

“It appears we are almost out of time.  The entirety of teams RWBY and JNPR have all qualified, as have Cardin Winchester, Coco Adel, and Mercury Black.  The rest of you will hear from me regarding entrance into this class.  If you did not qualify, I will inform Professor Goodwitch, who will bring you into one of her classes.  You may not appeal my decision, as it is final.”

Cardin stood up, unhappy about something.  “What is it, Mr. Winchester?”

“How on Remnant did Jauney boy qualify when Dove, Russell, and Sky didn’t?  And you didn’t even test the rich girl!  This is bullshit, man!”

For the third time in two hours, the entire class froze.

“Mr. Winchester, how many strikes did Mr. Arc land on me?”

“Zero, obviously!”

“And how many did _you_ land on me?”  Cardin’s arrogant smirk immediately vanished.  “Answer the question.”

“Zero.”

“So as far as I see it, everybody except Pyrrha tied for second place.  Which means who makes it into my class is my decision.  And I decided that Mr. Arc has considerably more potential than either you or he can see at the moment.  Do you understand?”  Azrael was staring daggers at the boy, and he had not blinked during the entire exchange.

Cowed, Cardin responded with a meek “Yes, sir.”

“As for your second question, I know Weiss personally, and I can tell you that she is just as proficient in combat as Miss Nikos.  In the future, it would be wise of you to keep a cool head the next time you disagree with me.  Class dismissed.”  Azrael thought for a second.  “Actually, Miss Belladonna, I would like to speak with you.  Please stay in the classroom.”

Blake froze, already hallway to the door, a million thoughts swirling through her head, and none of them good.  _How could he know about me?  The White Fang never had anybody like him working for them, or Adam would’ve mentioned him.  I don’t like this._

She waited by the front of the room as everyone filed out of class, eager to rest and heal their bruised bodies and egos.  Once again she found her eyes drawn to that beautiful sword in the glass case.  This close to it, Blake could feel…something.  It was as if the weapon was calling out to her, begging her to release it upon the world.  Blake’s arm began to reach for the lock on the case, seemingly of its own free will.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”  Blake recoiled from the case and turned to Azrael, who had silently moved right behind her.

Shaking her head to clear her mind, Blake asked, “What is that sword?  Why did it make me feel so strange?”

“She is the Chaos Blade, and she made you feel like that because she is a living weapon.  If you value your own life, you will never come near it again.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re not meant to.  Believe me, if the day comes where somebody other than myself picks up that weapon, this world will have already been doomed for a long time.”  Azrael decided not to dwell on what might be, and return to the matter at hand.  “Do you know why I asked to speak with you?”

Blake decided to feign ignorance.  “No, Professor.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“No, Azrael.”

“That’s better.  Now stop lying.”  _Damn it, he knows!  Well, better to come clean,_ Blake thought, but Azrael interrupted her.  “I know that you are a Faunus.  What I want to know is why you hide it.”

Suddenly it was as though a half-ton weight had been lifted from Blake’s shoulders.  Her secret was still safe, for the moment at least.  “Many people are not exactly kind towards the Faunus.”

“I am well aware of the racism that the Faunus are subject to in certain parts of the world; I am personally acquainted with the owner of the Schnee Dust Company.  But as far as I have seen, no such prejudice exists here in Beacon Academy.  So why the bow?”

“I just…I’m used to being on my own.  After I left my last home, I realized that it’s safer to not trust anybody, because you’ll always get burned in the end.”

Whoever this girl was, she was not telling Azrael everything.  But far from get angry, Azrael was ecstatic.  It had been centuries since he had last had to uncover a mystery.

“Alright Miss Belladonna.  That is all.  I will not press you further on this issue, but if you ever lie to my face again, I will have you removed from this school.  But I suggest you tell your teammates.  If you can’t trust them then you will have an extremely hard four years here.”

“Thank you, sir.”


	8. Slaughter on the Homefront

Even though Shanalotte and Karla had managed to sense Azrael’s soul, it took them nearly a month to pinpoint its location, and another two weeks before Straid had finished preparations for the portal.  In that time, the haughty sorcerer had nearly come to blows with Vengarl several more times.  After the last altercation resulted in the destruction of the town’s well, several statues, and Gilligan’s sitting rock, Lucatiel was forced to step in, sequestering Vengarl in the manor while Straid would remain in the home of the late blacksmith Lenigrast.

But finally, the preparations had been completed.  Lucatiel and Vengarl would travel through the portal and bring back their liege lord.  Straid could finally return to the Lost Bastille and stay far, far away from Vengarl (or more specifically, Vengarl’s swords).  Lucatiel had fetched Benhart, Ray, and Bradley from the Forest of Fallen Giants to defend Majula while they were away, a request the veterans were more than happy to oblige.

 _I didn’t think the portal would look so…dark,_ thought Lucatiel as she as Vengarl stared deep into the tear in the fabric of reality.  Not a single speck of light emanated from it, as if were smothering any brightness that appeared within itself.  She turned to the pair of inhuman witches who had created it.  “And you’re certain that you can open it again?”  Shanalotte and Karla nodded in unison.  “Alright then.  Vengarl, let us depart.”

As the warriors finally went to rescue their missing leader, a man in golden armor quietly made his way down the hill outside town, ready to resolve a grudge 15,000 years in the making.

* * *

Pate didn’t mind that he had to be down in the basement while Lucatiel and Vengarl departed.  He also didn’t mind staying down here the rest of the time either.  Sunlight was overrated as far as he was concerned.  _And the girl is good company, if rather quiet._

Pate glanced over towards the girl in question for only the third time that day.  It’s not like she was going anywhere; Pate couldn’t even fathom how they had gotten her inside.  Not to mention she was in no state to move herself.

The thief looked over his ward, and marveled at Azrael’s ability to make the strangest of friends.  First the two cats, then that odd bird woman Ornifex (really, how does someone with no thumbs, or even hands for that matter, become a blacksmith? It boggled Pate’s mind, leading to more restless thoughts than he was willing to admit), and now a giant albino spider-girl.  She resembled a beautiful human girl from the waist up—pearly white skin, soft alabaster hair, a shapely form—but from the waist down, she was an enormous, hideous spider.

Most men would have recoiled from the very sight of her, but then again, most men were note Pate.  Most men wouldn’t choose to live in an abandoned mining town overrun with spiders.  And most men would not deliberately antagonize a serial killing lunatic like Creighton.  Pate thought back to that final confrontation with the imposter Mirrah knight, thanking Caitha for the thousandth time that Azrael had shown up when he did.  Pate might have been able to defeat the killer, left on his own, but it was far from a sure thing—and there were some bets you just didn’t take.

A commotion arose outside and Pate heard a long, drawn-out yell, but it didn’t matter to him.  He didn’t particularly care for anyone in town except Ornifex, and even that was simply a passing curiosity.  His hope that whoever was outside had been dealt with was dashed when he heard heavy footsteps coming down the stairs from the map room.  Pate walked over to the girl and picked up his shield, tightly gripping his spear, ready to deal with whomever had taken it upon themselves to inconvenience him.  He could feel his heartbeat quicken as he heard a man screaming bloody murder, as if his very bone were being forcibly removed one by one.

As the unknown interloper came into full view, Pate nearly scoffed out loud.  The man was taller than Pate, but not by much, and wielded a curved sickle in his right hand, but it was his armor that stood out, even in the relative darkness of the basement illuminated by a single torch.  This strange warrior was clad head to toe in golden plate armor, and his golden torso plate was covered by two golden arms reaching across his bosom, meeting in the middle, as if an unknown woman was grasping him in a tight embrace from behind.  His helmet had a strangely blocky look to it, with small protrusions on the top edge, giving an impression of an odd sort of crown.  Nevertheless, Pate knew looks could be deceiving—hell, he had once seen Azrael fight wearing a flower skirt and butterfly wings.  He raised his shield and readied his spear.

“Leave.  Now.”

The warrior simply continued to walk towards Pate, as if he hadn’t even heard him.

“Are you touched in the head? Get out!”

The man in gold stopped and cocked his head, as if considering Pate’s order.  Pate knew it was a bluff—this man had presumably just slaughtered everyone outside, and now it was his turn.  Deciding to waste any more energy, Pate charged at this strange figure, swing his spear down with all his strength.

The golden warrior flicked his left hand, bringing up a small dagger Pate hadn’t even seen him holding.  He caught the spear and effortlessly twisted it out of Pate’s hand, forcing the shorter man to his hands and knees.  Pate began to rise, but stopped immediately when he felt a razor-sharp blade resting on the exposed nape of his neck.  Finally, his adversary began to speak.

“Where has Azrael gone?”

Pate simply spat on the ground.  The blade dug into his neck, drawing blood.

“I will not ask again.  You seem like a man resistant to torture.  The helpless girls outside won’t be.”

Realizing that he may yet get out of this alive if he cooperated, Pate carefully told the man what he knew—Azrael had disappeared, and the nonhumans devised a plan with Straid to find him.  Pate smiled as the blade was removed from his neck.  He continued smiling, even as the weapon swung back down and decapitated him.

Using the sand to clean the blood from his shotel, Lautrec of Carim turned his glance to the woman Pate had died protecting, and shock ran through him parallel to recognition.  _So, this is where she ended up.  This will suit me perfectly,_ the murderer thought.  Quelaag’s sister whimpered in terror until Lautrec slit the terrified girl’s throat, savoring the moment of pure ecstasy as he let the blood stain his armor, slowly and gleefully claiming her Fire Keeper soul.

* * *

 

Ornifex was shocked.  She had heard somebody approaching the town, and feeling the evil in their soul, decided to hide on the roof of Maughlin’s house, although the owner of the building looked at her with a puzzled expression.  Lying down, she saw that the cats Alvina and Shalquoir had both taken the same precaution, flattening themselves across the roof of their home.  The old blacksmith decided it would be best to lay low—relatively speaking—until Benhart and the other warriors had dealth with this threat.

But this intruder was not just strange-looking, he was monstrously powerful as well.  He snuck up on Ray quickly dispatched him, nearly cutting the man in two with that hideous weapon of his before Ornifex could even warn his victim.  Quicker than Benhart or Bradley could react, the man grabbed Gilligan by the throat and threw him down the pit in the middle of town to his death.  Ornifex would remember the rotund man’s screams—and the sickening crunch that followed them back up the hole—for the rest of her life.

Benhart leapt into action, hitting the attacker with all the strength he had as Bradley attempted to save Ray’s quickly ebbing life.  Seeing that his friend was far past the point of no return, Bradley gave him the mercy of a quick death, snapping his neck and leaping into the fray.  For a moment, it appeared that the two would be victorious, but as Benhart’s killing blow came down, the golden warrior rolled behind them, slashing at their heels as he went.  Bradley collapsed, his Achilles tendon severed, and Benhart was left alone to deal with this horrific foe.  Before Bradley could reach for his chime to enact a healing miracle on himself, the enemy swung his curved blade again, lopping the healer’s left arm clean off.  Benhart steeled himself for his end, fully aware that he lacked the ability to heal Bradley, and that none of the warriors who had fallen were Undead—including himself—and as such, nobody was getting back up.  But if he was to die, then by Caitha, he would make this bastard pay for it.

For several minutes, the two fighters exchanged savage blows, but nothing Benhart did seemed to even dent the man’s armor.  The brave warrior from Jugo cursed his foolish pride.  _Damn it, why did I have to hold on to the family sword? Azrael found the real Moonlight Blade and offered it to me!  Maybe if I had that weapon, I could do more than scratch this beast’s torso plate!_

Ornifex knew the strike would land before it had even touched Benhart.  Exhausted, he had overextended and the golden killer seized the opportunity, burying his sword into Benhart’s left leg before dragging it up through his abdomen and into his chest, piercing the man’s heart.  Benhart of Jugo, who had helped slay the Mirror Knight, had bested the Throne Defender in single combat, and even faced down a giant, poisonous facsimile of Velstadt the Royal Aegis, was dead before he hit the ground.

Once the golden man was certain he was the only one left standing, he walked into the building Ornifex hid on top of.  The old blacksmith heard poor Maughlin’s voice begin to yell.  A loud thud rang out, and Maughlin was silenced.  Ornifex heard a sinister voice with more than a hint of madness begin to speak—demanding to know where Azrael was—followed by more thuds and cries of refusal from Maughlin.  Very soon afterward, the evil voice stopped speaking, and the unfortunate merchant began screaming at the top of his lungs.  Ornifex heard thuds, loud clatters as shelves were broken and thrown to the floor, and the unmistakable sound of meat being ripped out from a body.  Eventually, Maughlin gave in and screamed, “HE’S NOT HERE! HIS WITCH IS IN THE BLACKSMITH’S HOUSE, PLEASE JUST KILL ME AND GET IT OVER WITH!”  The whimpers ceased as the man obliged Maughlin and entered Lenigrast’s old house.  Less than a minute later, he left that building with a key in hand and entered the manor, where he remained for several minutes, as Ornifex heard a brief scuffle before sensing Pate’s soul disappear, followed shortly after by the Fire Keeper.  The man emerged, his armor now stained by a large splash of deep red across the breast plate, and made for the bonfire near the cliff.  He quickly departed, his mind clearly focused elsewhere.  Ornifex did not move for several hours, unwilling to discover what had happened to her home or the man who had shared it with her.  Eventually, she resigned herself to it and clambered down off the roof, heading inside her home to try and clean things up before the inevitable funeral.  Ornifex could still sense Shanalotte’s and Karla’s souls—at least somebody other than herself had survived.

Deciding that the house was a complete loss, Ornifex set Maughlin’s home ablaze, providing her friend with a warrior’s funeral to honor his sacrifice.  _You might not have been a warrior, but you resisted that man’s torture when no one would blame you for surrendering.  You didn’t try to run; you didn’t even hide like I did.  Rest now, Armorer Maughlin,_ Ornifex thought to herself.  It might not be the most eloquent eulogy, but it was the best she had.

Ornifex headed over to Lenigrast’s.  She sat down next to Shanalotte and Karla as Shalquoir and Alvina joined them.  Ornifex did not say a word; none of them did.  They knew he would be back.

* * *

Lautrec had always despised Blighttown—even more so after that self-righteous bastard Azrael had let the world die rather than do his fucking duty and burn himself on the flames.  It used to just be poisonous, maggot-ridden, and beast-infested.  Now it was still all of those things, but it was pitch-black, too.  Alas, his soon-to-be partner lived in the bottom of this intolerable muck.  Lautrec grinned as he crushed the Fire Keeper’s soul in his palm, eliminating her conscious mind forever—the golden knight couldn’t run the risk of his future ally learning of his deception, after all.

And what a beautiful deception it was.  Lautrec knew the former Darkwraith would never antagonize Azrael without good reason—they were on excellent terms, after all.  But provided the proper… _push_ …he would leap at the chance to avenge poor Quelaan’s murder at Azrael’s hands.  The mad knight almost laughed out loud at his own genius.  Skilled as he was, Lautrec knew Azrael was his superior in almost every way; the man was stronger, faster, and bigger.

But Lautrec of Carim and Kirk, Knight of Thorns, together?  They would be more than a match for the so-called “Ashen One”.  And once they returned to Majula and forced that half-dragon whore to re-open the portal, Kirk would have his “vengeance”, and Lautrec would get to kill yet another crossbreed.


	9. Illusions and Arrogance

Salem was surprised by Cinder’s report.  She had not anticipated the arrival of a new teacher, and if Cinder’s subordinate was to be believed, this “Azrael” was quite the skilled fighter.  For now, she would have Cinder meet with him to determine if he could be swayed to their cause—Salem was doubtful that a teacher could be turned, but she trusted Cinder’s judgement on the matter.  If Azrael could not be turned, they could dispose of him at their leisure.

* * *

Azrael was being followed.  He didn’t like being followed.  It was after midnight, and Azrael had been walking around Beacon’s grounds, a hobby he had taken up since arriving at the school.  Being an Undead, he didn’t sleep, and he often grew restless staying in his room for too long.  He had already decided on who would make the final cut for his class, so he didn’t have any more teaching work to do.  But someone was following him, of that he was sure.  They were very quiet, and he couldn’t see them, but he heard their heartbeat and the telltale noise of light footsteps across grass.  He stopped in his tracks, turned around, and waited for them to reveal themselves.

 _Well, shit,_ thought Emerald.  The longtime thief decided it was time to employ her semblance.  She walked out from behind the tree she was hiding behind, using as much power as she could to implant an illusion into Azrael’s mind.  As far as he would see, Emerald was just another nondescript Beacon student—the girl’s illusions worked best when the fake form was as close as possible to her own body, no reason to try and disguise herself as one of the teachers.

Azrael looked at the student, not recognizing the slim, dark-haired girl.  She was the very embodiment of average; perhaps he had seen her in the halls and simply overlooked her.  Still, something wasn’t right, and the Undead felt a strange sense of déjà vu.

“Why are you wandering the grounds? It’s very late, you should be resting.”

The girl responded with a meek voice, “I don’t have any classes tomorrow.  And pardon my rudeness, but shouldn’t you ask yourself the same question, sir?”

“Hmph.  I guess you have a point there.  Still, it doesn’t excuse you shadowing me like that.”

“I know, I was just curious to see the new teacher everybody’s been talking about.”

“Well, I’m here now.”

“You’re…taller than I thought you would be.”  The sense of familiarity kept pounding at Azrael’s skull as he exchanged more words with the young student.

“Thanks, I guess.”  Suddenly it hit him, and Azrael cursed himself for not seeing it earlier.  _So, you’re an illusionist._   “I’ve been honest with you so far.  I am disappointed that you haven’t shown me the same courtesy.”

Emerald froze, nearly letting the façade slip.  _Impossible, how could he know?_   “W-w-what do you mean, Professor?”

“Don’t call me that.  And I am referring to your illusion.  Why? Too proud to show your true face?”

“No, I just…”

“I don’t particularly care about your reasons.  Drop the façade.  Now.”  Emerald obliged, and Azrael looked the young girl up and down.  She had dark skin—not as dark as Straid, but still more than just a summer tan—and mint green hair.  She wore a very revealing top—little more than a scrap of green and white cloth—and dark brown individual leggings that were strapped over simple white shorts.  The girl’s demeanor also changed.  No longer cowering, the illusionist that stood before him had an air of calm confidence.  In fact, her stance seemed to be challenging Azrael—although to what exactly, he was unsure.

“I don’t know why you chose to disguise yourself. But don’t ever do it to me again, or there will be severe consequences.”  The large man locked eyes with Emerald to make sure that she understood the seriousness of his threat.

Finally, she spoke in her normal voice, rather than the stuttering facsimile she had put up.  “Of course not, buddy.  I just wanted to get a good look at my friend’s teacher.  My name’s Emerald, you might know my partner, Mercury?”  Azrael was shocked at the girl’s informality, but it was a welcome change of pace from the constant attempts from students to tiptoe around him.

“Indeed.  He is a capable warrior, if far too overconfident.”

The girl laughed, a musical chuckle that put Azrael at ease—he knew when somebody was lying to him, and this girl’s laugh was entirely genuine.  “Tell me about it.  You wouldn’t believe the bullshit I have to put up with as his partner.”

“Well, I’m sure you would like to get some sleep.  I won’t keep you any longer.”

“Actually, would you like to meet with my leader? It’s late, but she is just as much of a night owl as I am, and I bet she would just _love_ to meet you.”

Azrael cocked his eyebrow at Emerald “Night owl?”

“Wow, you really are new.  It means we stay up really late.  Hell, you’re a night owl too.”

“Fine, I’ve got time.  Take me to meet this leader of yours.”

“Her name is Cinder.  Trust me, she’s great, the two of us go way back-” The girl began singing the praises about her leader—according to Emerald, she was kind, a strong leader, and an incredible fighter. Azrael could sense the truth of the girl’s words, at least as far as Emerald believed, not to mention her obvious infatuation with this Cinder.

Eventually, they made it to Emerald’s dormitory.  “Wait out here, big guy.  Cinder might be awake, but our friend Neo definitely isn’t, and you do not want to get on her wrong side.”

“Alright, but be quick about it.”

Emerald went into her room, and two minutes later, she emerged with a tall, slender woman, clearly this “Cinder Fall” Emerald had spent the last ten minutes praising.  She was wearing a long button down jacket and plain black slacks—the same outfit Mercury had worn to class the previous day.  Something bothered Azrael about her, but he couldn’t quite place it.  It was almost the same feeling he recalled when first meeting Weiss.  Azrael focused his Darksign to try and identify if this woman held a familiar soul as well, but it appeared to be paranoia on his part.  Her soul was certainly powerful—powerful enough to bear a passing resemblance to a soul he had encountered so many years before, yet distinct enough to convince him otherwise.

Cinder spoke in a soft, seductive voice.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Azrael.  Emerald tells me you’re a new teacher at Beacon.”

“Correct.  As I’m sure Mercury has told you, I am teaching students how to fight without utilizing their Aura.”  Azrael was hesitant to share too much with Cinder—he had been informed by Glynda that all students were in their late teens, but this woman appeared to be in her early twenties, at least—something was amiss.

“Let’s walk, Professor.  I would rather not wake Mercury or Neo if I can avoid it.  Emerald, you need your sleep.  Please leave us.”  Emerald obeyed, entering the dorm as Cinder and Azrael began to stroll down the hallway, talking as they went.

“I told Emerald, and I will tell you.  Don’t call me that.”

Cinder raised an eyebrow.  “Professor?  If I may be so bold, why not?”

“As far as I am concerned, only true scholars deserve that title.  The other teachers at Beacon have all earned that right.  I have not.”

“I see.  But from what I hear, you’re quite the weapon collector.  Weapons are a form of living history, after all.”

“Perhaps, but even so, I don’t consider myself a scholar on them.  Many are more knowledgeable than myself on the topic, and I wouldn’t presume to compare myself to them.”

Cinder nodded, seemingly satisfied with his explanation.  “You are one of the more interesting people I have ever met, Azrael.  I would love to get to know you better.  Perhaps over coffee?”

“I’m afraid I don’t partake.”

Cinder looked at Azrael with a strange expression, as if she didn’t quite buy it.  Azrael didn’t particularly care.  He had not lied; he didn’t drink coffee.  It just so happened that he also didn’t drink water or eat food either.

“That’s fine.  Tell me, what’s your opinion on the Vytal Festival?”

“The what?”

Cinder balked at this, quickly recovering as she mulled over this new information.  _How could he not know about the Festival?  Just who is he?_   “The Vytal Festival is a tournament held between the four academies every two years.  It is a symbol of unity among the nations, although I’m not certain that it works.”

“I like that idea.  Use sport as a proxy for war—instead of fighting, each nation sends their best students to fight in their stead.” Azrael thought for a moment.  “How do they ensure the fighters’ safety?”

“There are supposedly many safeguards in place—once a fighter’s Aura is depleted, or they are thrown from the ring, they are disqualified from continuing.  But something catastrophic could still happen.  After all, adrenaline makes people do crazy things.”

“Interesting.”  Clearly Cinder was not a fan of the tournament, but Azrael decided he had heard enough.  Something had been nagging at him throughout the entire conversation, and he could not ignore his instincts any longer.  He did not trust this woman.  “You’ll have to excuse me.  I have work to do.”  Once again, a half-truth: he did indeed have work to do—his weapons needed sharpening, after all—but he needed an excuse to leave.  Without waiting for a response, Azrael turned down a side path of the courtyard they had found themselves in, heading to the school’s weapon facilities.  If Cinder was surprised by his sudden departure, she didn’t show it.

Watching him leave, Cinder fumed internally.  Azrael was too smart for his own good, she decided.  They would have to be careful to plan around him, as Cinder realized that he would most likely not be a suitable recruit.

Taking out her scroll, Cinder called Roman.  It was time to start moving the Dust.

* * *

The following morning, Weiss noticed that the cafeteria was abuzz with activity.  About two dozen students milled around the notice board, where Azrael had posted the official roster of students whom he had accepted into his class.  Teams RWBY and JNPR were at the top, followed by Coco, Mercury, Cardin Winchester, and, rather surprisingly, Velvet Scarlatina.  Apparently, Coco had convinced her to try out for the class with Azrael and she had passed—not that anyone knew how.  The girl was constantly being bullied by Team CRDL and none of the first years had ever seen her fight back (nor, for that matter, had they ever seen her weapon).  Another eight names that Weiss didn’t recognize had made it as well.  Not that any of that mattered to her.  She could still barely believe that Azrael had actually become a teacher.  For two years, Weiss had planned out how she would use her first opportunity to slip off the Beacon grounds and go to the Emerald Forest to track him down, but now he had just showed up!  And almost as shockingly, he seemed to actually enjoy teaching so far.

On the down side, this meant that Weiss was stuck with Ruby.  The girl might have been two years young than the rest of the first years, but she acted like she was not even a teenager.  And she had been chosen as their team leader! Really… “I drink milk”?  How asinine could you be?  Weiss didn’t think Ruby deserved to be leader, and she had let the young girl know.  She would have to talk with Azrael, maybe he could force Ozpin to make her the leader.  _Honestly, even Blake or Yang would have been a better choice than that dolt._

Speaking of the devil, Ruby walked up to Weiss, joining her for breakfast.  Nora had clearly already visited the kitchen, as there were no pancakes to be found anywhere, so Ruby and Weiss had been forced to settle for plain cereal, sitting in awkward silence.  Weiss noticed that Ruby’s eyes were bloodshot—clearly the girl had been up all night, crying silently to herself—and she was taken aback.  _Had I really hurt her that much?  Well, I’m not going to apologize.  The truth hurts sometimes._   Finishing her cereal, Weiss left the cafeteria and quickly went to her next class, choosing not to notice Ruby’s head fall into her hands, half-asleep and half-heartbroken.

* * *

Roman relaxed, sitting in the dead shopkeeper’s office chair as the White Fang members Adam had loaned him began packing all the Dust into trucks.  There were only three more shops left in the northwest district, but they could wait.  For the moment, Roman could take a breather while the animals loaded up the trucks.  He looked at his short companion, and motioned for her to leave him.  He would enjoy this nap.  Just as Neo reached the door, Roman’s scroll rang out.  Cursing violently, he looked at the caller ID.  _Cinder.  Just fucking perfect_.  He couldn’t afford to ignore her.

Neo watched intently as her mentor spoke on the phone.  “Who is it?”  Roman asked innocently.

“Well, that’s just rude.  No, we’re not ready to start moving, we still don’t have all of it…at least a month.  Yup.  If you had given me more men, or more information, or more of anything at all really, then maybe I would’ve been done by now.  Why the rush, anyway?  Huh, that is interesting.  And you’re sure he won’t help?  Alright then, I’ll get to it.”  Roman hung up and sighed.  He headed out of the office, yelling instructions at the Faunus terrorists he begrudgingly worked with.  They would have to hit at least two more Dust shops tonight.

Neo followed Roman outside excitedly.  Naps were nice, but killing was much more fun.

* * *

The following Saturday, Yang was in one of the training rooms accessible to first-year students, taking out her frustrations on one of the heavy bags.  Blake sat in the corner, reading another of her books, as per usual.  Ruby was apparently still asleep in their room, and Weiss had gone to speak with Azrael.

Thinking of their teacher reminded Yang exactly why she had been frustrated to begin with.  Yang knew she could’ve landed a hit on him if he hadn’t dodged so well.  He wasn’t even moving that fast!  But it was like he could see five steps ahead.  Yang decided that if she couldn’t outfight him, she would at least get strong enough to punch that stupid face of his.  _And how the hell does he know Weiss?  She’s been dodging us all week; I am going to make her spill the beans tonight._

As her partner steadily destroyed yet another piece of Beacon’s gym, Blake was thinking about her conversation with Azrael.  How had he known she was a Faunus?  As far as she could tell, he hadn’t stared at her for any length of time.  Was it something during her tryout?  Did Ozpin tell him?  And most importantly, what _else_ did he know about her?  Sure, he hadn’t pushed her on the topic, but he clearly knew that she was hiding something.  _“But I suggest you tell your teammates.  If you can’t trust them then you will have an extremely hard four years here.”_   Was there more to this suggestion than just her Faunus heritage?  Like Weiss, Blake had been dodging her teammates’ questions about Azrael and their conversation all week.  She would have to tell them eventually, but right now she just couldn’t.

For another hour, the pair continued their respective rituals as they stewed over what they were going to do.  Elsewhere in Beacon, Weiss was hurrying to Azrael’s dormitory.  She finally found the right room and knocked hard on the door.  “Come in, Weiss.”  _I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised,_ Weiss thought with a smile.

For two hours, the student and her former mentor caught up on what each of them had been doing.  Weiss had pushed herself as hard as she could, not wanting to let Azrael down.  Azrael, for his part, told her story after story of living in the Emerald Forest, killing giant Grimm, meeting Glynda, and accepting the teaching position.  But as soon as Weiss mentioned that she had been practicing both her glyphs _and_ her summoning, Azrael’s face grew cold.

“You have to stop immediately.”

“But why? Father always said that if Schnees don’t use both halves of their semblance, they aren’t real Schnees.”

“I would rather have a fake Schnee than a dead one, Weiss.”  The girl’s eyes grew wide in shock.

“What are you talking about?”

“How do you think I came to be in this world?  Don’t you remember the day we met?”  Weiss grimaced as she recalled that bloody afternoon.  “Trust me, Weiss.  You, your siblings, your father, and the entire world were lucky that I was the one Winter summoned.”

“You mean there are stronger fighters than you?”

“No, but a couple are close.  And there is also the Forlorn to consider.”

“Who are they?”  Weiss readied herself for another tale of an epic duel from Azrael, but the Undead shut her down immediately.

“Warriors who have no business in this world or any other.  I wish to speak of them no longer.”  Azrael sighed, almost as if he pitied whoever these Forlorn were.  Refocusing his thoughts, he looked at Weiss, sensing something was bothering her.  “Now, why did you really come to me?”

“You can still see through me like glass.”  Weiss shook her head, smirking.

“It’s a talent.”

Weiss’s expression grew sour.  “As you know, my team leader is Ruby Rose.”

“Ah yes, the young scythe-wielder.”

“Yes, her.  Well…don’t you think I would’ve made a much better leader?”

 _So that’s where all this tension is coming from; I need to deal with this now._   “No.”  Weiss nearly did a double take.

“WHAT? How could you say that?  You know how much better a fighter I am!”

“I do.  And I also have a lot of experience fighting alongside comrades—experience you lack.  Weiss, you are an incredible fighter, nobody who has seen you train with me can deny that.  But I have failed you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Years ago, I saw pride inside you, and I did my best to control it.  I had hoped than after I had left, it would level itself off.  But it seems that in my absence, rather than tempering your pride, you have let it consume you.  Who are you to question Ozpin’s decision?  The man has lived and fought for decades, but you think you deserve to be leader, just because you were born to Jacques Schnee?”  Azrael’s tone had turned almost hostile, and Weiss shriveled under his piercing glare.  Seeing the distress he was causing her, Azrael lowered his voice.  “I am sorry for yelling, Weiss.  Know that I am not angry with you.  I am angry with your father for poisoning your mind.  I am angry at myself for leaving you.  Neither of those things are your fault.  But if you continue down this path of hubris, then you will be to blame for what follows.”

“I…I’m sorry, Azrael.”

“Don’t apologize to me.  Your leader agrees with your belief that she is not good enough.  You are both wrong.  Ruby may be young, but she will grow into her role.  And she needs you to give her a chance.”

Weiss couldn’t believe how hypocritical she had been.  _This whole week I’ve been yelling at Ruby and calling her a child while I have been whining to anyone who would listen that she was picked as leader.  How could I be so stupid?_   “Excuse me, Azrael.  I have to go.”

“Don’t let me stop you.  And I expect to see the two of you in my class Monday.”

“You will!” Weiss called back to Azrael as she ran off to find her leader, sufficiently humbled.

* * *

“I don’t believe you for a second, Lautrec.  Now get out before I end you.  Everyone knows what you did to the Darkling.”

Lautrec slowly shook his head, chuckling.  “Look, you know as well as I do that this…” he gestured to the massive bloodstain that had permanently marred his golden chest plate, “wasn’t caused by Undead blood.  It was Quelaan, and I can prove it to you.  Azrael slit her throat in front of me before he ran off with his two lackeys.”  Kirk still wasn’t entirely convinced.  Azrael had served the Fair Lady for decades, killing thousands of fellow Undead to help heal the poor girl.  They had parted ways a long time ago, but the Azrael Kirk knew wouldn’t have done this.

And yet, Lautrec was right about his armor.  The man might’ve been a maniac once—and still the vilest individual Kirk had ever had the displeasure of meeting—but even wading through an ocean of human blood wouldn’t leave a black stain like that.

“Fine, I will accompany you to this ‘Majula’.  If what you say is true, I will help you find Azrael on one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Let me take my time torturing him before you kill him.”

“It’s a deal.”  The two men shook hands and left the gloomy corridor, where Quelaan had once lived with Eingyi and where Kirk now made his home.  They passed the dead bonfire, useless without a Fire Keeper, and made for the same bonfire that Lautrec had appeared from: his old haunt, the Firelink Shrine.

* * *

To say that Ozpin was unhappy with Ironwood would be an understatement.  The normally calm, collected headmaster hung up his scroll, red in the face and completely livid with his friend.  Ozpin had just gotten off a call with the Atlesian general that had quickly devolved into a screaming match, with insults, demands, and accusations flying between the two guardians of Remnant.

 _How could he think that keeping Azrael a secret could possibly serve the greater good? Was he planning to use the man?_   Ozpin almost chuckled at the thought of Ironwood attempting to order Azrael to do anything; the new teacher was clearly not the sort of man who would allow himself to be used as a pawn.

Ozpin hit his intercom.  “Glynda, more coffee, if you would.  And summon Pyrrha Nikos to my office, I would like to speak with her regarding her performance in Azrael’s class.”

“Of course, sir.”  Ozpin had received a report from Azrael on his first class.  While a live combat tryout on the first was certainly unorthodox, the man clearly knew what he was doing.  But he wanted to know more about his newest employee, and the best way to do that without arousing Azrael’s suspicions was to question the only student who had actually managed to land a hit on him.


	10. A Teacher, Six Robots, and Two Terrorists

_At least this time they brought their weapons to class,_ Azrael thought as he paced back and forth in front of his classroom, making sure his words reached every set of ears in the room.  “Every last one of you has trained for the entirety of your young lives to fight.  As you all saw last week, most of you have not trained hard enough.”  The class all glanced towards Pyrrha before Azrael continued, recapturing their attention.  “Yes, Miss Nikos struck me.  I commend her for it, but a single strike is usually not enough.  If it had been, I would have died.”  The students were shocked at this revelation, especially Pyrrha.  She raised her hand.  Something had been bothering her all week about their spar, and she suddenly realized what it was.  _My strike drew blood.  That shouldn’t have happened._ “Yes, Miss Nikos?”

“Sir, why did my strike draw blood?  Shouldn’t your aura have blocked it?”  Several of the quicker-thinking students stiffened, all reaching the same impossible conclusion.

“That happened because I have no Aura.”  An audible gasp echoed throughout the room.

“But sir, perhaps it simply hasn’t been unlocked?”

“Some have tried to do exactly that.  All of them, including one of Beacon’s own professors, have failed.  I came to terms with this long ago.”   _Long ago? He is barely older than us,_ thought Pyrrha.

Steeling herself for the potentially disastrous consequences of her next question, Pyrrha forged ahead.  “Sir, does that mean that you don’t have a soul?”  The silence that followed was so complete and oppressive it was almost physical.  After several seconds that felt like hours to the young gladiator, her instructor finally spoke.

“No, I do not believe so.  It may be a defect or a disease, but I know who I am.”  Azrael took the opportunity to speak with the entire class.  “And I hope that none of you are foolish enough to think otherwise.  The only creatures of this world without souls are the Grimm.”  The collective breath of the students let out in relief.

“Back to the matter at hand, I will be instructing you all to fight without your Aura.  One day you may be forced to do it, and I would prefer you learn now as opposed to on the battlefield.  Now, everybody line up in front.”  Azrael’s pupils rushed to the front, most of them eager to learn whatever fighting techniques he had planned.

Nora shoved several students out of her way, determined to be first.  Once everyone had lined up behind her, Azrael nodded approvingly.  “You have a strong Aura, even I can tell.”  Placing his left hand on her shoulder, Azrael grasped the orange-haired girl firmly and delivered a savage punch to her gut.  As Nora fell to the floor, everybody saw her Aura crack, signifying that it had been depleted.  Ignoring their shocked faces, Azrael commanded, “Stand up, Miss Valkyrie.”  To the class’s shock, Nora got up immediately, confusion painted across her face.

“I don’t understand.  You went right through my Aura in a single punch…How am I not hurt?”

“I hit you exactly hard enough to disable your Aura, and not a single bit harder.  For the next four hours, you and I are on equal footing.  Welcome to ‘Combat Without Aura’.”  Azrael looked around and saw that several students had gone pale.  “Trust in your teacher.  None of you will be injured, but the first several weeks of this class will not be pleasant.  Every one of you depends upon your Aura for the strength to wield your various weapons effectively.  I intend to make every one of you just as deadly without Aura as you are with it.”

Yang couldn’t believe it.  She thought they would be suppressing their Aura for this class, but eliminating it entirely?  People could get seriously injured!  She had to speak up.  “How are you going to deal with injuries?  If we don’t have our Aura, we could get seriously hurt!”

“Miss Xiao Long, no one will die in this class, I will make sure of it.  As for injuries, I will need a volunteer to explain.  Nora, if you would?”

With more curiosity than common sense, Nora nodded.  Azrael immediately grabbed her leg and snapped it at the thigh.  Nora’s screams echoed would have echoed throughout the entire school if Azrael had not gagged her with his hand.  He quickly grabbed a strap on leather he had placed on a nearby desk and balled it up, stuffing it in the girl’s mouth.  “Bite down on this.  I know how much it hurts, trust me.”  The class recoiled but could not bring themselves to look away as Azrael snapped the leg back into place, setting it back where it belonged.  His left hand suddenly became wreathed in flames, before the effect changed to a soft yellow orb of light and he began running it along the fracture.  Nora’s eyes went wide and her muffled screams immediately ended as she looked down at her leg, already completely healed.  She spat out the leather and looked at Azrael.

“H-h-how?”  The teacher cracked a rare smile.

“Trade secret, I’m afraid.”  He turned to the class as Nora rose to her feet, already back to her usual bubbly self.  “If I decide that any of you have the aptitude, I will teach this to you.  Do not approach me about it, your enthusiasm has nothing to do with it.  This is a talent you must possess at birth.”

Several of the students looked hopeful, others looked pessimistic.

“Alright, who’s next?”

* * *

Team RWBY barely crawled back to their dorm before they all collapsed to the floor of their room.

“Weiss, I thought you said he trained you.  Aren’t you used to this?”  Yang asked.

“He trained me, but not like this.  I think he wanted me to focus on learning to use my semblance at a younger age, so we never did Aura-less training,” the heiress responded.  “Either way, I am not looking forward to waking up tomorrow.”

Blake spoke up.  “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that.  How did he train you?  He’s barely five years older than we are.”

“Well, he’s actually much older than he looks.  He would tell Winter and me stories about his adventures when we were growing up.  His face hasn’t changed at all since we first met eleven years ago.”

All three of Weiss’s teammates sat up at this.  Blake spoke again.  “But that’s not possible.  Azrael doesn’t seem like he would be obsessed with his appearance, so plastic surgery is out.  How is…”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Blake.  A lot of strange things seem to happen to Azrael.  I’ll ask him tomorrow if I can tell you guys some of his stories.”

Ruby perked up at this.  “Maybe he can tell them!  I bet he would do great scary voices too!”

Weiss shook her head mirthfully.  “They’re not those kinds of stories Ruby.  Some of them are actually really sad.”  She thought back to the time Azrael had finished telling her the story of Siegmeyer and his daughter Siegliende—she and Winter had cried themselves to sleep for days afterward.  “Anyway, he might not be willing to even let me tell you guys, and I’m sure he’s very busy anyway.”

* * *

To say that Azrael had gone hard on the class was an understatement.  After deactivating everybody’s Aura, almost nobody could use their weapons as they normally would—Nora and Ruby could barely even lift Magnhild and Crescent Rose.  But Azrael didn’t even give them time to get used to the added weight.  For the next two hours, he made them practice with their now extremely heavy weapons, only allowing the class a single five-minute break hallway through.  After that, he marched them outside, where he forced them to run laps around the outside of Beacon Tower for another hour.  Seeing the angry looks on several students’ faces, Azrael decided to show them up—with a very special set of armor he barely used.  The class didn’t even recognize their instructor under the mountain of stone he wore—head to toe, he was encased in four-inch-thick granite, with a massive stone greatshield strapped across his back.

“If I can run weighed down by a half-ton of stone, you can all run in your usual combat gear! Now get going!” Azrael shouted before taking off at a relaxed pace.  As soon as Blake or Velvet—by far the two fastest runners in the class—came near him, Azrael just kept increasing his pace, until he was practically galloping along, with no indications of tiring anytime soon.  After it was finally over, Azrael brought the class back inside.  Several students—Jaune and Ren included—had to be carried or dragged by their partners, and everybody was dead on their feet.  “Good job, students.  I hope to see all of you again on Wednesday.”

Every student groaned, remembering that this class met three times a week.

“Oh, and one more thing.  The three students whom I decide have performed the best to my expectations at the end of the semester each get to take a weapon from the wall.”  _That should be enough to motivate them._

* * *

Jaune turned to Pyrrha, the knight barely able to turn his head towards his partner.  “Pyrrha, please just let me die next time.”  The girl—one of only three students (the other two being Blake and Velvet) who was not currently either panting like a drowning person or guzzling water like they had been trapped in a desert for three days—chuckled.  “Jaune, how do you expect to improve?  I bet Azrael was once in the same position you are now.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“I’m serious, partner.  How do you think he became so strong?  If he could train himself to that point, so can we.  You and I will start training on our own.”  Pyrrha was determined to make Jaune see himself as she saw him, whether he wanted to or not.

“Oh dear Dust no.”  Pyrrha just giggled again.

“Come on Jaune, let’s go to the cafeteria, it’s almost time for supper.  Then we can all go sleep it off.”

Pyrrha collected Nora and Ren, and took Team JNPR to go get some well-deserved R&R.

* * *

Through the waterfall of sweat cascading down his brow, Mercury grinned.  _The idiot is handing me the tools to beat him and he doesn’t even know it._   Like everybody else, Mercury was beyond exhausted, but he was also confident that he could deal with whatever Azrael threw at him.  It would be worth it for one of those weapons.

Mercury couldn’t believe somebody as young as Azrael could have amassed so many weapons—and all of them were clearly of incredible quality.  Cinder would definitely want to get her hands on some, but stealing from Azrael ranked right next to “try to stab Salem” at the top of Mercury’s list of painful ways to commit suicide.  For now, it appeared he would have to actually put in some effort and win one of those weapons legitimately.

 Cinder would want to hear about this competition as soon as possible.  But first, Mercury decided that he had earned some extra sleep.

* * *

Azrael never liked waiting.

Several weeks had passed, and Azrael had watched his students improve.  After two months, every student was now at least able to wield their weapons effectively—although only Pyrrha and Ren were anything close to their normal fighting aptitude.  Several of the students had come forward and thanked Azrael, reporting that their training matches outside of class (when they actually had Aura at their disposal) had improved more in two months than in the previous two years.  Even Velvet—who he had only allowed into the class at Coco’s minigun-aided insistence—was showing remarkable improvement in her hand-to-hand skills.  Azrael decided that he would have to see this strange weapon of hers one day; if it was anything like what Coco described, it would be an interesting experience, to say the least.

So far, none of the students were failing to improve, but two of his pupils did appear to be lagging behind everyone else: Jaune Arc (although the boy had spirit and determination in spades, Azrael noticed that he had clearly started off from a point far behind any of the other students), and more surprisingly, Blake Belladonna.  Although she was intelligent and fast on her feet, the Faunus had trouble maneuvering the sheath of her katana—the Gambol Shroud—and she also seemed unable or unwilling to dodge attacks.  According to Yang (whom Azrael had attempted to turn down for private lessons no less than eight times by the third week of class), Blake’s Semblance—the ability to teleport short distances, leaving behind a semi-physical copy in her wake—was integral to her fighting style, and the lack of Aura in Azrael’s class prevented her from using it.  The teacher understood, but he didn’t care.  These children could fight fine with their Aura; Azrael was concerned with making sure they were not killed when it ran out.

At any rate, Azrael was happy with his class’s progress so far.  The more pressing issue was Team RWBY’s apparent late-night sojourns.  The four of them had been sneaking off school property in recent nights, and their performance had declined in the last week.  Which was why the Undead was waiting in an alley outside a “nightclub”, as it was apparently called.  Azrael was still astounded by the wealth of information instantly available on the CCT network.  Since he had taken up residence at Beacon, he had made a concerted effort to improve his reading skills, but it was much harder than the warrior had expected.  Azrael decided that he hated English sometime around the fourth exception to this “I before E” rule.

Hearing a motorcycle approach, Azrael ducked further into the shadows.  He felt Yang’s soul approach the front of the club, along with an unfamiliar and weaker (but not insignificant) energy.  Apparently, the brawler had brought a friend along.  Azrael waited for thirty seconds, then left his hiding spot and waited next to a bright yellow motorcycle parked nearby.

“Alright, it looks like this was a dead end…” Yang trailed off as she saw the enormous man wearing a strange upturned steel helmet, a padded leather vest covered in medallions and wreathed in tattered yellow robes, and steel plates on his arms and legs.  It could only be one person.  After several seconds of tense silence, Yang relaxed, while her blue-haired companion didn’t move a muscle.  “Hey there, teach.  So I guess you figured us out, huh?”

“Not really.  I’m most just curious as to who you intend to fight.”

Yang wouldn’t have believed a teacher could be so relaxed, but then she remembered that her uncle was a teacher.  “Murderers, terrorists, thieves, a redhead.  You know, the usual.”  It was at that moment that Yang’s scroll rang, and Azrael could hear the panicked voice coming through the speaker.  “Sure thing.  We’ll be there in a minute…and we’re bringing some cavalry.”  Yang hung up and turned to Azrael.  “Yup, definitely a redhead.”

Azrael’s amusement was obvious to Yang, even underneath the headgear.  “A redhead?  Sounds incredibly dangerous.  I wouldn’t be doing my duty as a teacher if I didn’t ensure the safety of my students, now would I?”  Yang smiled and dragged her friend towards her bike.  Azrael locked his gaze onto the overly tanned young man.  “And who is this?”

“This is Neptune.  Don’t worry, he’s cool.  By the way, I don’t think you’ll fit on the bike, it’s really only meant for two.  And by two, I mean two normal-sized people.”

“I wouldn’t dream of piggybacking on you.  I’ll run alongside.”  Neptune’s jaw dropped, and even Yang was taken aback.

“You do realize how fast this thing goes, right?”

“Do _you_ realize that I’m not wearing the armor I wear during our running exercises?”

“Fair point.  Just don’t fall behind.”  Taking the visibly shaken Neptune with her, Yang jumped onto her bike and began speeding off after a half dozen giant mechs that came galloping down the street, chasing Blake and a strange blonde boy with a prehensile tail.

The chase eventually lead to the highway, with Blake and the monkey boy jumping from car to car with the robots in hot pursuit, Yang and Neptune next, and Azrael bringing up the rear.  Neptune couldn’t believe his eyes as he watched the armored giant gallop along, easily keeping pace with them.  _We’re going at least 60 miles per hour and he’s not even using Aura, how is this possible?_   Neptune remained confused when Azrael bypassed them, tackling one of the 14 foot robots with his bare hands.  Before the pair of them fell back out of sight of Yang and Neptune, Azrael pulled the enormous black spear from his back and stabbed it into the Paladin’s cockpit, instantly killing the pilot.  He quickly began sprinting again, and eventually caught up with his students.  Soon he had methodically tackled two more of the mechs and murdered their pilots, while Yang, Blake, Neptune, and the monkey Faunus had managed to knock the others off of the highway they were on.

But one of the mech pilots apparently grew a brain, smashing the robot’s fist into the highway, ending the chase, knocking Neptune and his friend unconscious, and bringing everyone down to a massive abandoned lot, just as Ruby and Weiss arrived on the scene.  Azrael called out to the two members of Team RWBY.

“Weiss, Ruby, go with your teammates and deal with this mech.  I’ll handle the other two.  Now!”

The pair, nodded, running over to Blake and Yang, attacking Torchwick’s mech as they went.  As Weiss and Yang created a shroud of fog using ice dust and Yang’s incendiary shells, RWBY launched a series of devastating attacks on the robot, ultimately crippling it.  Just as they were about to capture the orange-haired crime lord, a small woman with pink and brown hair appeared in front of him, redirecting Yang’s punch into the ground.  She then put up a strange illusion that left an after-image of herself and Roman, allowing the two of them to escape.

Team RWBY turned around to see Azrael slowly pulling his “halberd” (which Blake had pointed out to him a month earlier was not actually a halberd, to the teacher’s annoyance) from the cockpit of the last mech, having already destroyed the other one.  All four students recoiled when they saw that Azrael’s armor had become slick with blood, and Blake took the opportunity to vomit behind the nearby debris.  Once she had recovered, the cat Faunus walked over to Azrael and jabbed her finger accusingly into his abdomen (his chest was too high for her to reach).

“How could you do that?  Those men deserved a trial!”

Azrael slowly took off his helmet and placed it on the ground.  “I agree.  And I gave them a trial by combat.  I found them all wanting.”  He took a deep breath and continued, ignoring their horrified faces.  “Do you honestly believe I should have spared the murderous terrorists who would never, not in a thousand centuries, have given you the same opportunity?”  Blake dropped her hand back to her side, tears welling up.

“They deserved the chance to change.  And you took that from them.”  Suddenly everything clicked into place for Azrael.

“You used to be one of them.”  Blake nodded, tears now openly streaming down her face.  “I apologize for angering you, but this is the way it has to be.  If I had not killed them, they would have killed one of you.  Understand this about me, Miss Belladonna.  I don’t take chances with killers.  Not anymore.”  Azrael joined Blake in misery, a single tear meandering down his face.  “Return to school before you are caught out of bed after hours.  I will take responsibility for this.  And I want all four of you to come to my classroom tomorrow.  There is something I must explain to three of you, and and story all four of you deserve to hear.”  Team RWBY looked at each other quizzically, none of them understanding what Azrael could possibly mean, although Weiss had an idea of what he was going to explain.


	11. Revelations

The next morning, Azrael sat in his empty classroom, waiting for Team RWBY to arrive.  He did not want to relive his greatest failure, but he had decided that the four of them needed to know.  His head snapped up when he heard a knock at the door.  “Come in.”  Much to Azrael’s surprise, it was not Team RWBY, but Pyrrha Nikos at the door.

“Sir, I need to make a confession.”

“You’ve been giving Jaune extra training.”

Pyrrha did a double take.  “No, that’s not—wait, how did you know?”

“Two reasons.  Firstly, in the last two months, he has improved far beyond what he is capable of with only my instruction.  The second reason—and the reason I know that it’s not Mister Ren or Miss Valkyrie training him—is that I can see the way you look at him.”

The girl blushed a deep shade of crimson.  “What are you talking about?”

“I told the class to never lie to me, Miss Nikos.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just…what gave me away?”

“Literally everything you do when you are not speaking with me.”

Pyrrha was far from shocked; Azrael seemed to know everything about all of his students off hand.

“Well, sir, I have been training him, but that’s not why I’m here right now.”

Azrael simply raised an eyebrow.

“The first weekend after tryouts, Professor Ozpin asked to speak with me, and…”  The girl was clearly hesitant to reveal whatever had happened.  _This is getting us nowhere fast._

“Pyrrha, the only thing you could possibly say that would anger me is a lie.” _Not strictly true, but I doubt she’s been borrowing the Chaos Blade without my knowledge_.  “Please.  What did you speak with him about that is causing you such distress?”

Pyrrha was shocked; this was the first time she had heard him use any of the student’s first names except for Weiss.  Stammering, Pyrrha continued.  “W-well, sir, Professor Ozpin asked me about, well…you.”

“Oh, really?  Any specifics?”

“No, just…our fight.  He wanted to know how I won.”  Azrael shot her a questioning glance, clearly indicating that he wanted her to continue.  “I told him the truth—that I watched as you fought everyone else, noticed that you let the fight last exactly three minutes every time, and used that to my advantage.”

“I don’t see why any of this is a bad thing.”

“He asked for more information about your fighting style, almost like he was looking for a way to defeat you.  I didn’t want to get in trouble, so I told him what little I knew.  I also…I also told him about the other thing.”  Azrael’s eyes widened.

“What ‘other thing’?”

“You know what thing, sir.  That your w-” At that moment, there was a loud knock at the door and Pyrrha nearly jumped out of her armor.  Azrael knew exactly who it was.

“Give me a minute, Ruby,” the teacher called out, and turned back to face Pyrrha.  “Now then.  Exactly what do you know about that sword?”

“That it…well, that it talks.  I don’t think anyone else noticed, but during our fight, I could hear a woman’s voice in my head.  She kept telling me to smash open the case.”  Pyrrha spit the last sentence out, almost afraid that her words would send Azrael into a rage.

Azrael laughed for almost a full minute.  “Oh, Pyrrha, you have no idea how relieved I am.  You were not wrong; the weapon does speak, but as long as you ignore it she cannot harm you.  However, I can tell you that you are not the only student to notice.”  Azrael paused thoughtfully.  “In fact, I would like you to remain here while I speak with Team RWBY, who are waiting patiently outside.  I have something I need to tell them, and your honesty has convinced me that you are trustworthy enough to hear it as well.”  Pyrrha nodded in assent, honored at the vote of confidence.  Azrael had something he wanted kept hidden—even from Ozpin—and he was trusting her with the knowledge.  Azrael called out for Team RWBY to come inside.  It was time to end this charade.

The door opened, and the foursome entered the classroom, surprised to see Pyrrha.  “Please, all of you, take a seat.  I have some explaining to do.  I have spoken with your professors, and you are excused from today’s classes.  Pyrrha, I will cover for you as well.”  All five girls warily sat down in the nearest available seats, their minds running wild with ideas of what exactly Azrael was going to reveal.

“First, I need to explain to you how I came to be a part of this world.”

For the next twenty minutes, Azrael told them how he had been summoned by Winter, and had decided to serve as the Schnee sisters’ teacher and protector—leaving out that Weiss was the reincarnation of Priscilla.  _If I don’t have to explain that, then I won’t._   He recounted his decision to leave for Vale, and his first meeting with Glynda.  As he finished the first part of his tale, Azrael could see hundreds of questions in each of the girl’s eyes.  Not eager to start a Q&A session, he held up a hand.  “I’m sure you all have plenty of questions.  I will tell you the rest of my story, then I will answer any unanswered questions.

“My earliest memory is waking up inside a disgusting cell.  There I waited, for many, many years, until a man peeked through the hole in the ceiling.  He didn’t say a word, but he threw a body down into the room—that body had the key to my cell on it, although I never did find out why he didn’t just toss the key down.

“Within minutes, I had reached a courtyard, where there was a sword impaled on a pile of bones and ashes.  Feeling instinct take over, I raised my hand to the sword, and felt a strange sensation—as if all the warmth in my body was leaving.  This only lasted for a split second before the ashes exploded, lighting a small, gentle fire.  As soon as I sat near it, I felt all the fatigue fall away, and I was washed over with a feeling of peace, as if all of my exhaustion had been blasted away by the flames.  This was my first experience with a bonfire.

"Soon I realized that I was faced with three choices: open the enormous door in front of me, return to my cell, or wait at this bonfire forever.  I choose progress, and was greeted by an enormous demon jumping down from the caved-in roof of the prison, as the doors closed behind me.  This demon was easily fifteen feet tall, disgustingly fat and bulbous, with small wings and a stone tail, and carried a massive hammer made from rock.”  Azrael gestured to the Demon Great Hammer that hung behind him, near the floor.  “That weapon is a perfect copy, but the original was three times larger in every dimension.

“I had no weapons, no magical aptitude at all, and was wearing nothing but poison-resistant rags.  I didn’t stand a chance.  So instead, I ran.  First I tried to open the doors I had entered through, but they would not budge.  Before I could make a plan, the demon’s hammer came crashing down, breaking half the bones in my body, b miraculously, I could still stand.  With the door behind me closed, I limped to the side of the room, attempting to hide behind some of the pillars that once held up the roof, but the demon simply knocked them aside.  Eventually, I saw a small door that lead down a hallway—much too small for the demon to fit.  I dove inside—feeling the remaining bones in my body break—and a metal gate dropped down behind me, sealing off my progress.  For what felt like hours, I slowly dragged my battered body with my left arm—the only limb that had retained any function—until I came to a small room filled with six inches of stagnant water.

“More importantly, I saw another unlit bonfire.  Using the last of my energy, I lit it the same way I had the first one, and any doubts I had about the magic of these strange swords was removed.  I felt my broken bones snap themselves back into place, the cuts and bruises across my body mending themselves at the same time.”  All five girls sat there with wide eyes, unable to even speak, they were so shocked.  As fantastical as this tale was, something told them that their teacher was neither insane nor lying to them.

Azrael forged ahead.  “After I had rested for a moment, I decided that I could not stay in that place.  I went out into the next hallway, where I was met by an archer aiming his bow directly at me.  He loosed the arrow and it hit its mark, piercing my heart.  As the blood drained from my torso, I cursed my own frailty.”  He paused, enjoying the looks of confusion plastered across Pyrrha and RWBY’s faces.

After a moment, Azrael continued.  “Darkness overcame me, but a moment later, I awoke, back at the bonfire, no worse for wear physically.  My appearance, however, was another story.  I looked at my hands and saw that my skin had become dessicated, as if something had been drained from me.  I came to learn that this was my natural state.  I had begun to Hollow.

“Eventually, I overcame the wretched Asylum, where my savior, Oscar, the man who had given me the key, met his end.  Before he died and I killed the massive demon blocking my exit, Oscar gave me a gift and a goal.  The first was an Estus Flask, a precious flask used by the Undead—immortal humans who would not stay dead until they had completely lost their sense of self, of which I am one—to heal wounds when a bonfire is not readily available.  The second was the Bells of Awakening, two bells guarded by monsters, which, when I rung both, would summon the great serpent Frampt, and illuminate my supposed ‘destiny’.”

For the next hour, Azrael told them how he spent years fighting through Lordran, learning of the Lords—beings of immense power who had subjugated humanity—and their war with the dragons, overcoming obstacle after obstacle, learning and mastering pyromancy from Laurentius, and later Quelana, and killing every monster he found, until he discovered Quelaag’s sister.

“Seeing that poor sickly woman, for the first time I considered that, just maybe, these monsters were more than they appeared.  I also learned that I could understand her language, with the help of the ring I had found in my cell back at the Asylum, although I could not speak it myself.  I entered into the girl’s service, killing the Hollows I came across and using the Humanity from their corpses to try and alleviate some of her pain.

“Eventually, her attendant Eingyi told me of a healer that he knew of, in a place called New Londo.  I returned to Firelink Shrine in search of this healer who might be able to help me.  Eventually I reached the flooded city and discovered that it had become infested with the spirits of the former residents.  I was able to fight them with the use of a horrifying item—the transient curse, a shriveled human arm.  Carrying it on my person imitated the effects of a pernicious curse, allowing me to combat the ghosts. Eventually I found the man I had been seeking—who called himself Ingward—but just as I had feared, he refused to help a demon, no matter how much I pleaded with him.  He demanded that I speak with Artorias, but I had no idea who he was referring to, and the two of us argued for hours.  Seeing no alternative, I demanded he hand over the key to the city’s massive floodgates so that I could continue traveling through the city to seek help.  He became enraged that I might release whatever evil he had flooded the city to contain, and attempted to kill me.  I was forced to kill him, and I took the key myself, opening the floodgates and draining the city.

“Once I reached the ground, I discovered that not everything had died.  Even after so many years, there were still human-like beings down there—the Darkwraiths.  Clad in armor made from human skeletons, these monsters hunted me for months as I fought my way through the city, eventually reaching a staircase that lead down into darkness.  With a veritable army at my back, I was forced to jump, and I landed safely on a plane of infinite darkness as far as the eye could see.  But before I could even get my bearings, I was dragged into the abyssal darkness by a multitude of hands grasping at my armor.  Unable to resist, I was immediately killed, and woke up back at the Shrine.”

Weiss spoke up.  “So there weren’t even any bonfires in New Londo?”

“No.  The people there hated the Lords, and saw the bonfires as a symbol of humanity’s enslavement.  The next time I attempted to travel to that Abyss, I would have to find my way through the entire city again.  Eventually, I decided to try and find this ‘Artorias’ Ingward had mentioned.  I discovered from Andre the blacksmith that Artorias was long dead, but his grave was in the nearby Darkroot Garden.

“Unfortunately, it was guarded by Artorias’s faithful companion—Sif, the Great Grey Wolf.”  Blake saw tears forming in Azrael’s eyes as he described fighting and eventually killing the majestic beast.  “On the list of things I wish I could have avoided, this fight is very close to the top.  But after I had killed Sif, I claimed the Ring of the Abysswalker from the grave she was protecting and made a beeline back to Firelink.

“It took several weeks, but eventually I reached the tower again.  Slipping Artorias’s ring onto my right hand, I plunged feet first into the Abyss.  This time, no hands dragged me to my doom, and I was able to look at my surroundings—although nothing had changed.  I was standing in a world of infinite blackness, as far as I could see, with no way out.  Resigned to my failure, I prepared one of my homeward bones to return me to Firelink, but then I felt a strange presence.  I turned around and saw a hideous monstrosity emerging from the blackness.  It is not accurate to call it a monster, because it clearly had a man’s face and arms, but its skin was grey and coarse-looking, as if it was turning into some sort of tree.

“The most horrifying part, however, was his chest.  Where normally an Undead would have the mark of their Darksign, this…thing had appeared to have suffered some sort of explosion.  Grey tendrils of skin and bone were splayed outward, deforming its left shoulder.  Before I could react, the thing charged towards me, emanating an earsplitting shriek.  I tried to block the swings from the massive sword in its hand, but the blade passed through my shield and gouged chunks from my torso.  Dropping my shield, I did my best to dodge its attacks while doing what I could with my blade and my flames.  Eventually, I felled it.  However, as it faded into dust, it let out one final cry, and three more beings identical to it rose from the darkness around me.

“After nearly an hour or frantic dodging and slashing, I finally killed the last of them, and heard a rumbling noise as they disappeared, leaving me with an incredible soul in my hands.  I attempted to absorb it, but it reacted poorly.  This was a shard of Gwyn’s soul, and only one vessel would take it.

“As I pondered my predicament, I heard movement to my right.  I saw a great serpent, nearly identical to Frampt, emerge from the blackness.  He introduced himself as Darkstalker Kaathe, the leader of the Darkwraiths.  He shared with me Frampt’s deception: linking the Flame would not save the world for mankind, it would only prolong Gwyn’s Age of Fire and keep humanity subjugated.  It was at that moment that I lost what little faith I had in the Gods.”

Azrael then relayed the remainder of his story in Lordran: claiming the Lordvessel, travelling back in time to free Artorias from his torment and exact revenge upon Manus, Father of the Abyss, using the souls of powerful foes to create a multitude of unique weapons, hunting down the remaining Lords, and finally descending into the Kiln of the First Flame.  Azrael spent a good deal of time describing Lautrec’s betrayal and escape from Lordran after Azrael foiled his assassination of Anastacia of Astora.

“After I had killed all of the Black Knights, I faced their leader: Gwyn, the Lord of Sunlight and Cinder.  I wish I had a good fight to tell you students about, but it wasn’t.”  Pyrrha and Team RWBY looked at Azrael questioningly.  “He had given so much of his own soul to the First Flame, as well as splintering it to give to Seath and the Four Kings of New Londo, that by the time we fought, the god of light was nothing but an empty shell.  I don’t think he was even conscious of his own actions anymore—his death at my hands was mercy.  After he died, I left the Kiln, letting the flame extinguish and becoming the Dark Lord of Mankind.”

Azrael took a deep breath.  He was coming up on the part of his story he had been avoiding for the entire three hours he had been speaking.  “I spent many years ruling over Lordran, becoming more and more disgusted with Kaathe and his plans for man.  Eventually I returned to my old prison and clear it of the Black Knights and demons that had taken up residence.  Apparently, Gwyn had spent millennia filling the asylum and using his knights to periodically expunge it of any life.  Back in my cell, I found a peculiar doll and heard a voice in my head beckoning me to a building in Anor Londo.  Inside was an enormous painting, and as I approached it, the voice grew louder and louder until it was deafening.  I touched the painting and the voice silenced itself—at the same time, something grabbed me and dragged me inside the painting.  There, I spent years fighting more walking corpses, horrifying bird-women, and even the reanimated corpses of long dead dragons.

“Once I reached the end, I braced myself for yet another monstrosity, but instead I found…a young girl.  She held an enormous scythe and was covered head to toe in fluffy white fur, with a beautiful human face and a small tail.  Despite her impressive weapon, this girl recoiled form my presence, begging me to leave her world in peace.

“I thought over my options.  This girl was so innocent and naïve that she did not even understand that her protectors were mostly monsters, with only two proper men standing guard—Jeremiah the King in Yellow, and Berenike, the founder of an ancient kingdom.  Clearly this girl had done no wrong, but Gwyn and his ilk had shunted her into this cold painting, away from sight.  The only conclusion I could draw was that he feared her.  The choice before me was simple: bring this poor girl with me and use her as a weapon, or remain in the Painted World, forsaking my duty as Dark Lord and protecting her.  I choose the latter.

“For hundreds of years, challengers kept coming into the Painted World, and the creatures I had allied myself with kept making short work of them.  It seemed that the girl, who told me her name was Priscilla, was the crossbreed daughter of the albino dragon Seath and Gwynevere, Gwyn’s own daughter, would remain safe under my watch.”  Tears welling up in Azrael’s eyes, he hesitated before continuing, “That is, until Lautrec returned.”  The girls’ eye widened, feeling a strange sense of foreboding at the very name.

“I was speaking with Jeremiah one day, when my Darksign felt dozens of Black Knights pouring into the painting.  As our first defenders fell, Berenike rallied the Harpies and our soldiers, charging out to meet the interlopers.  As the battle raged, Berenike was eventually pushed back to the central courtyard, where the Phalanx joined into the battle.  Shields raised, it sent countless spears into the mass of Black Knights, skewering them to the wall almost as fast as they poured into the fray.  Seeing that the two heroes’ efforts would not be enough, I sent Jeremiah to watch after Priscilla and jumped into the battle myself.  I struck down hundreds of Black Knights over the next 24 hours, but Berenike and the Phalanx were both lost, and I was severely injured, out of Estus, and cut off from the bonfire.  After the last knight fell, I slumped to the ground and closed my eyes.  Then my Darksign felt a presence I had not felt in centuries: Lautrec the Embraced, Traitor Knight of Carim.

He calmly walked past me, certain that I would not be able to stop him.  I was too weak to fight, but I knew that if I found a single piece of Humanity, I would be back at full strength.  Scrabbling on the ground, I pulled myself up to a nearby staircase, where I knew I had stashed several pieces of Humanity.  Feeling the smoothness of the black sprite in my hands, I crushed it, feeling my energy returning and my wounds healing.  I sprinted towards Priscilla, the only place Lautrec could be heading.  I saw him reach her, and was about to lunge at him when I felt Jeremiah’s notched whip wrap itself around my throat.”

Azrael had abandoned any pretense, allowing tears to flow freely down his face.  Weiss had joined him, distraught over seeing her closest friend and confidante so inconsolable.

“Unable to breathe, with blood pouring out of my neck, I was forced to watch as that monster hacked Priscilla limb from limb, keeping her alive to the very end.  Lautrec took perverse pleasure in sawing her tail off before he finally ran his dagger through her mouth and chopped the corpse of my lady to pieces.  Deciding it was better to lose my own life than watch anymore, I focused all of my power into my pyromancy flame, summoning an enormous chaos firestorm, killing everything in the Painted World except Lautrec and me.  The traitor Jeremiah, the Black Knights, the surviving Harpies…all of them burned as the enormous pillars of lava rose up and collapsed, destroying the castle and sealing the two of us together, alone in the world.

“But Lautrec had prepared for this eventuality.  Seeing me blinded by rage, he quickly ran to the edge of the cliff and jumped off, leaving the Painted World and emerging somewhere outside of Lordran.  That was the last time I saw him—though not for lack of trying.  I spent 5,000 years tracking that psychopath before the trail finally grew cold and I found myself in a kingdom called Drangleic, losing my memories.”  Azrael spent another hour quickly recounting his travels since failing to take vengeance on Lautrec: fighting alongside the warriors of Drangleic, recovering the four crowns that finally broke the curse of Hollowing, allowing him to essentially live forever, and taking the Throne of Want before coming to the continent of Lothric and ending the Flame once and for all.

“After I sent the message to Lucatiel to retrieve Quelaan, I prepared to return to Majula for a time, but then Winter summoned me, and I ended up in Remnant, eleven years ago.  You know the rest of the story.”

Pyrrha and Team RWBY were speechless.  None of them believed that Azrael was insane, nor that he had lied to them in the slightest, but this was just too much.  Demons, dragons, even _gods_?  Finally, Yang spoke up.

“Sir, I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Thank you, Yang.  Now, please return to your dormitories, and the next time you plan on taking down terrorists, let me know beforehand.”  The brawler smiled at that, some of her normally boisterous personality returning.

“Sure thing, teach.  And don’t worry, your secret is safe with us, even from Ozpin.”

“I appreciate that.  Now please, I need to be alone.”  Azrael’s student departed, their heart heavy with the story they had just heard.

Azrael had decided that it felt good to share it with them, although he wished it had not caused them such distress to see their teacher so vulnerable.  His mind clear, Azrael felt something strange, as though several familiar souls had just appeared in the world, albeit very far away.  _It couldn’t be…_

Regardless, he had students to train, and he would not allow any distractions.  Pushing the insistent Darksign’s warnings from his mind, Azrael began to plan tomorrow’s class exercises.


	12. The Gang Arrives in Remnant

A bright light blocked out Lucatiel’s vision for several seconds.  Once she adjusted to the bright light, the warrior looked around, taking in her surroundings.  To her right stood all eight feet of Vengarl, the Forossan knight surveying the area just as Lucatiel was.  They had emerged from Karla and Shanalotte’s portal into some sort of forest, although it was like no forest Lucatiel had ever seen.  As far as the eye could see, every leaf, every blade of grass, every single scrap of vegetation was a bright red, as if the forest was locked into autumn.

Before Lucatiel could think too much about this, a large wolf-like monster jumped out at her.  Lucatiel drew her sword—a simple broadsword she had refined while Azrael borrowed her signature greatsword—and rammed the point deep into the creature’s throat, killing it instantly.  As it dissolved into dust, Lucatiel got a good look at the “wolf”.  Its fur was a deep black, as if no light could escape from it, and it had bright white plates of bone growing over its head and back—almost like naturally formed armor—decorated with strange red markings, as well as six-inch-long, razor sharp claws.  Most disturbing were the thing’s eyes: they had no pupils and emanated a soft red glow matching the markings on its bone plates.

“Watch out, that one wasn’t alone,” growled Vengarl, placing his shield across his back and removing both of his red rust swords from their respective scabbards.  Lucatiel brought her shield up and placed her back to Vengarl’s as she noticed that the two Undead had been completely surrounded by at least fifty of the creatures.  One of them was easily half again as large as his peers, with considerably more of that bone armor, covering his chest, abdomen, face, back, and forelegs.  The alpha’s claws were also twice as long as those of his pack, and Lucatiel doubted they were any less sharp.  Vengarl whispered to Lucatiel, “I’ll take the big one.  See if you can break through their rear and divide them, otherwise we’ll be quickly overwhelmed.”  Lucatiel grunted in assent.  “On the count of three.  One…Two…”

* * *

Qrow had spent the last five weeks traveling back to Vale without attracting much attention.  It was easy to avoid notice when you could transform into a crow, but Qrow would be damned if it didn’t take an absurdly long time.  Thankfully, he had finally made it to the Forest of Forever Fall.  From here. It was only a day’s walk to Vale, where he could spend a few days drowning in liquor and waitresses before reporting to Ozpin.

A loud shout followed by the sound of a large scuffle caught Qrow’s attention.  Staying in his corvid form, Qrow followed the noise to its source: a pack of several dozen Beowolves attacking what looked like a Huntsman and a Huntress—although their gear was completely unfamiliar to Qrow, a mild shock in its own right.

The male fighter—easily the largest man Qrow had ever seen—seemed to be laboring under the delusion that he could take on a pack Alpha on his own.  Qrow could see a large scimitar on the ground to his left, and a similar blade wedged into a nearby tree.  The warrior was actually grappling with the Alpha with his bare hands.  As Qrow watched, shock overcame him as the Huntsman started to overpower the larger creature.  _He’s not using any Aura.  How is that even physically possible?_   For her part, the female warrior had cut through the circle of Beowulf like a hot knife through butter and was drawing as many of the creatures of Grimm away from her partner, allowing him to slowly crush the life out of the Alpha in peace.  After snapping its neck with a casual flick of his wrists, the enormous man casually picked up his scimitar from the ground and yanked his other sword from its roost in the tree.

Soon the fight was over, and nearly sixty Beowolves lay dead, slowly dissolving into ashes, while the two warriors had barely scratched their armor.  Qrow decided that the time for introductions had come.  Flying down behind them, he transformed back into his normal body and began to slowly applaud the warriors.  This, as it turned out, was a bad decision.

Almost instantaneously, Qrow found three swords pointed at him, mere inches from his face.  Not dropping his laidback demeanor, Qrow slowly let his hand drift to the hilt of his weapon and began to speak.  “Damn good job with those Beowolves, but I’m not going to attack you.  Do you mind?”  Neither warrior budged.  “Alright, I’ll drop my weapon, and then we can talk.”  Qrow carefully grasped his sword and gently laid it on the ground before kicking it away in a show of surrender.

The large man sheathed both his swords, but the woman remained on guard, gripping her sword tightly, prepared for any trickery from the strange man.  “Who are you, and how did you sneak up on us.”

“The name’s Qrow.  As for sneaking up on you, that reminds me…why didn’t either of you use your Aura?  It would’ve made the fight much easier for you.”  The two looked at each other quizzically before looking back at Qrow.  For the first time, he heard the large man speak.

“You dodged the question.  How did you surprise us like that?”

“My Semblance allows me to transform into a small bird.  Very useful for scouting.”

“I don’t know what you mean by Semblance.  And what is Aura?”

Qrow nearly did a double take.  _This is going to be a long day…_

* * *

Azrael couldn’t believe what he was sensing.  At first, he had disregarded the familiar feeling coming from his Darksign.  After all, he had thought that he had met that girl Cinder before, but he was mistaken.  Perhaps spending so much time in Remnant had eroded his senses somewhat.  But several moments later, both souls flared up, as if in combat, and there could be no mistaking it: Lucatiel and Vengarl had arrived in Remnant.

For several seconds, Azrael rejoiced, before remembering what had happened when he had been summoned.  Not only had he ended up killing 49 men who likely did not deserve to die, he had maimed Captain Sierra…and four Black Knights had followed him through.

Azrael sprinted out of his class, breaking down the door in his frantic hurry, and began sprinting down the hall as quickly as he could (while taking care to avoid running over any students) to Ozpin’s office.

* * *

“And you’re certain?”

“Absolutely.  I have known both of them almost my entire life.  It cannot be anyone else.  But more importantly, I fear they have been followed by the same people who tried to attack me outside Atlas a decade ago.  If I’m right, then whoever else is in that forest is in grave danger.”

“I know someone who is an excellent tracker.  I will contact him and send him to the area as soon as I can.”

“Thank you.  I will also leave soon.  I would like to use your express elevator to the city.”

“There’s no time, just take a Bulkhead.”  Azrael grimaced at this.  “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t like flying.  I have…bad experiences with it.”

Ozpin was taken aback.  He had seen the damage Azrael had wreaked on the stolen Atlas mechs.  Azrael clearly wasn’t shy about violence or blood, and yet Ozpin’s newest employee was practically shaking in his boots at the prospect of having to ride in the safety of a Bulkhead.  “I’m afraid we have no choice.  You will have to deal with it.  If what you say is true, and there is a danger to my school in the Forest of Forever Fall, we have to get boots on the ground as soon as possible.”  Like it or not, Azrael knew he was right.

_Ugh, this is going to be terrible._

* * *

Ozpin watched Azrael leave and took out his scroll.  If Ozpin knew Qrow, the scout would be flying through the Forest of Forever Fall at that very moment—the Forest was directly between the village Qrow had reported in from and Vale’s tavern district.

“Hey, Oz.  You caught me at the perfect time.  I have two people I think you’d very much like to meet.”  _He had already run into them, and it sounded like nobody had died.  That’s…good._   “Anyway, what do you need?”

“It looks like my call was unnecessary—I was about to ask you to look for them.”

“Is that right?  Huh, small world and all that.”

“Indeed.  Please tell them to stay put; I have a friend headed to pick them up.”

“I don’t think you understand, Oz: there’s no way I can keep them here.”

“What’s happened?  Is something wrong?”  If even half of what Azrael said about these two was true, there were a million different ways the situation could’ve devolved.

“Nothing like that…you worry too much.”

“It’s my business to worry.  Now, why can’t you keep them there?”

“They’re very anxious to find a missing friend of theirs, name’s Azrael, has a bunch of weird titles after the name too.”

“Well tell them that they will have to; I’m sending Azrael out to the Forest.  Will they be safe where you are?”

“Yeah…yeah, they’ll be just fine.  Not sure I can say the same about the Grimm, though.”  If Ozpin had a camera in the area, he would’ve seen Vengarl cleaning his swords, while Lucatiel finished off the last of the dozen or so Ursa that had attacked the trio with a swift slash that bisected the creature’s armored skull.

“Thank you, Qrow.  Once you have ensured that they will stay put, I need your report.  Please return to Beacon as soon as possible.”

“Understood.”  Ozpin could feel the Huntsman’s reluctance.  Now that he knew that Ozpin knew he was in town, Qrow would have to forgo his usual post-mission bar crawl.  Ozpin cracked a rare smile as he hung up and messaged Glynda to bring him more coffee.  He was running dangerously close to a half-empty cup.

* * *

Qrow put his scroll away, turning to the pair of warriors, unsure how to go about informing them that they had to stay put.  Lucatiel noticed his strange expression as he stared at her.  “What is it?” she snarled.

“That was my boss.  He wants the two of you to stay here for the next few hours.”  Before Qrow could finish, Vengarl interrupted.

“Absolutely not.  We have to find Azrael and bring him back to our world.”

“That’s the thing.  This ‘Azrael’ is with my boss, and he’ll be coming here to pick you up.”

Vengarl’s eyes lit up with hope, while Lucatiel remained cautious.  “If you are lying, I will kill you.”

“Yeah…one more thing, my boss needs to talk to me in person, so…bye.”  Without another word, Qrow transformed into his bird form and flew off, narrowly dodging the knife Lucatiel threw at him.

* * *

Azrael had never particularly enjoyed flying, but this…this was torture.  As the bullhead lifted off, Azrael could feel his stomach rise up into his throat.  Once the vehicle had settled, it was even worse.  Azrael looked out of the wide-open sides of the bullhead, his only handhold a metal bar attached to the sides of the passenger area.  _At least Velka’s raven held me in its talons.  If my hand slips at all there’s nothing to stop me from becoming a bloodstain on the forest floor.  I almost wish I hadn’t brought Lucatiel’s sword with me so I could use both hands._   Azrael didn’t mean it, of course.  There was almost nothing he wanted more than to return the large sword to its rightful owner.  He was good with it, but when Lucatiel used it, it became an extension of her body, much like the Chaos Blade did for Azrael, when he was forced to use it.

After several more hours, at which point Azrael had become convinced that he had died permanently and was in the lowest depths of Nito’s hell, the vehicle reached an opening in the tree cover, and finally started to descend.  Focused as he was on not falling out of the mechanical bird, Azrael had neglected his Darksign, not realizing just how close he was to his followers.  As the bullhead drew close to the ground, Azrael practically leapt off, overjoyed to be on solid ground once more.

Recovering from his jubilation, Azrael looked up from the ground to see Vengarl chuckling at his state.  “Has this world really made you this soft?”

“Don’t judge me until we get back to Beacon, Vengarl.”

Lucatiel spoke up.  “What do you mean, my lord? We are here to bring you back.”

“Not happening.  I will explain once we return to Beacon.  But for now, brace yourselves.  We have several hours of flying ahead of us, and it won’t be fun…and I keep telling you not to call me that.”

Lucatiel grinned behind her mask.  _Always with this.  It’s good to see he hasn’t changed much._   “Afraid not, my lord.”

Azrael sighed, he hated all those titles.  They meant nothing to him, but Lucatiel was insistent.  “Never mind then.  There are important things I need to explain.  Get in the bullhead and hold on very tightly.”  He motioned to the vehicle, patiently waiting for them to board.  Azrael and Lucatiel got on first, followed by Vengarl—whose weight caused the vehicle to dip threateningly.  Azrael pounded on the cockpit door, signaling that the trio was ready to go.  For the entire flight, all three Undead didn’t say a word as they clung for dear life to the support bars.

Finally, they reached Beacon Academy.  After dismounting, Azrael went to the pilot and warned him never to speak of Azrael’s…reaction…to flying, or he would “end up like that bastard Petrus”.

The pilot didn’t know who Petrus was, but he felt bad for the guy.

* * *

“So she is in Vale?  You’re certain?”  Ozpin wasn’t happy at the thought of their enemy infiltrating so close to the Vault.

“Yes.  I don’t know where, but I know that she’s here.”

“How long will it take you to find her?”

“Afraid I can’t.  Raven contacted me.  I have something important to take care of.”

The holographic figure of Ironwood next to Ozpin nearly had an aneurysm.  “More important?  You’re the only one who knows what she looks like!”

“It’s the Spring Maiden, James.”  Ironwood’s furious expression immediately softened.

“I apologize.  Do what you believe is best, Qrow.”

Ozpin took another sip of his coffee before interjecting.  “Now then, about these two new arrivals…what do you believe we should do about them, General?”

Ironwood thought for a moment.  “If Azrael trusts them, then I have no objections with keeping them at Beacon for the time being.”

Qrow laughed.  “‘Keeping’ them?  You have no idea what you’re dealing with, do you, Jimmy?”

Ironwood’s face darkened.  “Qrow, do you happen to know what my first posting as an officer in the Atlesian military was?”

“No, I don’t do background checks on my friends.”

“Thanks for the flattery, but that’s not the point.  It was supposed to be a basic security detail, guarding a large shipment of dust en route to the SDC’s refining factory, a decade ago.  We had mechanical trouble and were forced to stop at the Schnee mansion and use their garage to repair a cracked combustion manifold.  It took three days.”

Qrow appeared about to faint from boredom.

“While I was there, I happened to meet an enormous man by the name of Azrael.  Do you know how he was introduced to the Schnee family?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Winter, only 14 at the time, had finally managed to successfully use her Semblance to summon an infant Beowulf.  The next day, eager to show off to her younger siblings, she tried it again.  Instead of a creature of Grimm, Azrael appeared, as if out of thin air.  Five minutes later, 49 men from the Schnee’s personal security detail were dead, and their captain, Carmine Sierra, lost most of the right side of his torso.  I know all of this because I arrived later that day.  I helped pack dozens of corpses into body bags, so don’t you dare tell me that I don’t know what these people are capable of!”  Ironwood’s normally reserved tone had grown into a full-blown shout, and his face had become scarlet from the effort of yelling so loudly.

Qrow was speechless for the first time in a long time.  Suddenly, a lot of things about the general made more sense.  “I’m…I’m sorry, James.  As long as you trust them, I will trust them too.”

“That’s good.  I had hoped to avoid explaining to your nieces how I had removed their favorite teacher,” Ozpin chimed in.  From the corner of the room, Glynda’s palm slapped against her face as Qrow slowly turned to her employer, seething with barely-constrained rage.

“Would you mind repeating that?”

“Of course.  Ruby and Yang, along with everyone else Azrael has been teaching, have advanced far beyond even my expectations.  To be honest, I think Glynda may even be slightly jealous.”  Ozpin’s assistant snorted at the idea.  _Really, me jealous of him,_ Glynda thought, injured by the insinuation—ignoring the fact that Ozpin was right.

Qrow looked around the room.  “I don’t have time for this, Oz.  I will leave it at this: if he hurts either of them, I will kill him, I will kill his two lackeys, then I will kill the three of you.”  The angry scout marched out of Ozpin’s office.  If he could have slammed the elevator doors on his way out, he would have.

“Now that that unpleasantness is dealt with, we can move forward.  James, have your investigators found anything about the Winter Maiden?”

“Nothing yet, but we do have a few promising leads.  We’ve found a strange cave in the northernmost mountains of Solitas.  The cave is filled with strange blue crystals and inhabited by enormous, seemingly peaceful butterflies.  They’re an entirely unknown species, and they’re definitely not Grimm.  Strangest of all, we found a large blue slab, apparently made from some sort of mineral with a similar makeup to the crystals.  And most tellingly, the entire area is soaked in the Winter Maiden’s Aura signature.”


	13. Assignments

“A teacher?  You can’t possibly be serious, my lord.”  Lucatiel refused to believe Azrael was actually teaching children how to fight.

“I’m entirely serious.  And it is necessary.  I’m afraid I will not be returning to Drangleic for many years.  I need to stay here and watch over Weiss.”

“But…why?”

“She…she has Priscilla’s soul.”

Lucatiel’s eyes widened.  Azrael had only spoken of Priscilla one time, and made it clear never to mention her again.  Looking at her old friend’s eyes, Lucatiel saw that he truly believed his words.  Either Priscilla had been reincarnated into this Weiss girl, or Azrael had finally lost his mind—and Lucatiel knew enough about him to know exactly how unlikely the second option was.

“I believe you, my lord,” Lucatiel responded, while Vengarl looked at the pair questioningly.  Lucatiel glared at him.  “We’re staying, Vengarl.”

The giant smiled softly.  “Alright then.  What enemies does the young girl have, Azrael?”

“Mostly beasts this world calls creatures of Grimm.  They believe that the monsters are being of Darkness.”  Seeing the concern flash across his friends’ faces, Azrael quickly continued.  “Do not worry, the curse does not exist here.  You yourselves fought some of them in the forest.  As you may have noticed, they have neither souls nor Dark within them.”  Immediately, Lucatiel and Vengarl relaxed.

“The more pressing threat is the White Fang, a terrorist group made up of Faunus.”

“Faunus, my lord?”

“As far as I can tell, they are some sort of animal-human hybrids, although nobody seems capable of explaining exactly where they came from.  There is nothing that makes them lesser as far as I can tell—in fact, two of my best students are Faunus.”

“So, what are the goals of this ‘White Fang’ and why would Weiss be in danger?”

“They apparently started out as a civil rights group.  The Faunus are treated much like the Undead—most of them were even corralled to their own continent in the southeast called Menagerie.”

Vengarl and Lucatiel both frowned, remembering how often each of them had been mistreated for their Darksign.  A thought occurred to Lucatiel.

“My lord, why can’t Vengarl or I sense you with the Darksign?  We had no idea you were coming until you jumped out of that vehicle.”

“Because I’m not exactly ‘here’.  Weiss’s older sister summoned me, and I assume that the same rules for the white soapstone apply here.  Unfortunately, that means I can’t use Estus, and since there are no bonfires in Remnant, I can’t establish myself in a more permanent fashion.  If I am killed, I will likely be sent back to Lothric without a method to return.”  The implications of their own temporary mortality were not lost on Lucatiel or Vengarl.  Vengarl spoke up, drawing something form underneath one of the furs that covered his armor.

“Well I suppose it’s a good thing we brought this then.”  In his hand was a small, nondescript box.  It was completely unremarkable to the untrained eye, but Azrael knew exactly what it was.

Vengarl had brought Azrael’s Bottomless Box with him.

“How did you get this?”

“You can thank the witch for that.  She carried it with her from Firelink; it’s why it took her so long to reach us.”

“Gods, Karla, you really are the perfect woman,” Azrael muttered under his breath.  “Alright, for now, the two of you will stay in my dormitory—here is a map.”  He handed Lucatiel a scrap of paper, upon which he had drawn a rough map of Beacon.  “We’ll see about getting you your own living quarters, but try to stay out of sight.  I want you both back in this room at dawn in three days.  You’ll be meeting my students.”  Lucatiel and Vengarl nodded, and made to leave.  Before Lucatiel exited, she paused and turned back to Azrael.

“Thank you, my lord.”

“For your sword?  It’s nothing.  I told you I would take good care of it.”

“No, not for that.  I was terrified that something had happened to you, and yet here you are, better than ever.  Thank you for not leaving us.”

* * *

The following Monday, Team RWBY and the rest of Azrael’s students filed into class, eager to start training.  Much to their confusion, there were two strangers standing next to Azrael.  One of them was a tall blonde woman with a large greenish-grey mark covering the left side of her face, and she held a large sword in her right hand—Weiss recognized it as the Mirrah Greatsword that Azrael had sometimes used when they had first trained together.  The woman wore a blue leather vest embroidered with an intricate white design along with a flowing blue cape attached to her waist, with a white blouse and brown pants underneath, and in her left hand the woman held a beautifully crafted, perfectly circular bronze shield.

To Azrael’s right was an absolute giant of a man, who stood a full head taller than even Azrael—easily eight feet or more in height, and well-built.  He wore a red helmet, styled to look like some sort of beast head, as well as a leather hauberk covered in thick animal furs.  In his hands, the man held loosely onto two enormous swords. The blades were over fout feet long and it seemed like even Cardin or Nora would struggle to so much as lift them.  On his back was an enormous—if simple—shield, similar in shape to Jaune’s, but almost twice as large.

Azrael allowed his class to observe the newcomers for a minute before he snapped them out of their reverie.  Coughing loudly into his hand, he drew his students’ attentions.  “Good morning class.  As you may have noticed, we have guests.  This is Lucatiel of Mirrah,” he gestured to the woman to his left, “and this is Vengarl of Forossa,” Azrael’s arm moved to his right.  “Think of them as my assisstants.  I have explained to them what we do here, and they are willing to help me out.  This way, there will be three instructors helping you learn, and I think this will help speed up everyone’s progress.  After all, I can only be in one place at a time.”  The class chuckled, and Vengarl glanced at Azrael, surprised that the Undead seemed to have grown a sense of humor in his absence.

The class was excited to learn from the two new teachers, but first came the usual Aura deactivation.  Lucatiel and Vengarl watched intently as Azrael deactivated each student’s personal shield—Qrow had explained the concept to them, but neither of them had actually seen Aura being depleted yet, so Azrael decided it was best not to have either of them potentially harming the students in the first ten minutes of class.  Everybody had gotten used to this part after ten weeks of class, but nobody liked it.  After several minutes, the entire room was Aura-less, and training could begin.

The next two hours flew by for the students.  At any one time, almost everybody was either being directly instructed by or watching a demonstration from one of the three Undead warriors.  Even Lucatiel and Vengarl began to enjoy themselves by the end.  Then came the cardio.  Azrael decided to let Vengarl lead this one, and by the end, the students all despised him for it.  The giant fighter effortlessly sprinted around the school for the next hour, demanding that every student keep up with him—not an easy feat when his stride covered twice as much ground as any of the students.  After class, the students all dragged themselves back to their dorms to recover from the most grueling workout they had received since the first day of the semester.

Azrael returned to his classroom, pleased with his student’s progress.  At the beginning of the year, these same students would likely have died of exhaustion from today’s exercises—not to mention, every one of his students was now able to effectively wield their weapons without the aid of their Aura.  Next week he would start them sparring with each other without Aura.  It was a good thing his recently reacquired Bottomless Box was stuffed with Old Radiant Lifegems—and that Irina had managed to “modify” them before her disappearance, allowing not only to use them on another person, but exponentially increasing the speed of their healing—otherwise he would have had trouble keeping his students from accidentally killing each other.

For now, though, Azrael had to decide which students would be accompanying him on a “field trip”, as Ruby called it.  Apparently, Huntsmen-in-training were expected to go out on missions under the watchful eye of fully qualified Huntsmen, usually their teachers.  Lucatiel and Vengarl’s arrival had made it much easier to decide, since now he would be able to assign three teams of his own students.  He would go with Team RWBY to a place outside Vale known as “Mountain Glenn”, but who would he send the rest with?  There were two more full teams to choose from, not to mention Coco, Velvet, Mercury, and Cardin.  While four of his students had unfortunately dropped out, Azrael had managed to fill the vacancy with four young men from Haven, two of whom—Sun Wukong and Neptune Vasilias—he had met when he and Team RWBY had ended up fighting those mechs on the highway.  All four of them had impressed Azrael with their fighting abilities, so he had offered private lessons to the four of them to help them catch up with their classmates.  Now they were nearly at the same place as the rest.

 _So, I have JNPR, SSSN, and the misfits to split between Lucatiel and Vengarl…_ Azrael decided that since he had four individual students—although two of them, Coco and Velvet, were on the same team—he would send six with Lucatiel and six with Vengarl, but who should go to each?

Eventually, Azrael gave JNPR, Velvet, and Cardin to Lucatiel, who would be taking them into the Emerald Forest to gather intelligence on a Behemoth herd that had been sighted nearby.  He sent SSSN, Coco, and Mercury with Vengarl to a small town on the furthest border of the kingdom with orders to protect them—recent scans of the neighboring woods had shown severe Grimm activity, and the seven warriors would stay there until the threat had abated.

After Wednesday’s classes, Azrael informed his students of their assignments, to a considerable outcry—the loudest coming from Coco, who refused to allow her friend Velvet to be on a team with Cardin.  Azrael sighed.  “Miss Adel, see me after class.  As for the rest of you, class is dismissed.  We will be departing on Friday, so I suggest you spend tonight and tomorrow preparing for your respective missions.”

His students left, and Azrael motioned for Lucatiel and Vengarl to leave as well.  The pair had received their own lodging, near Teams RWBY and JNPR’s rooms.  Even before the last student had left, Coco had approached Azrael and began berating him.

“Do you have any idea how much of an asshole Cardin is to Velvet?  He’s a racist and she’s a Faunus, what were you thinking?”  Azrael simply stood there as Coco continued on for three minutes, accusing Azrael of everything from stupidity, to favoritism, to outright racism.  “I mean, do you just enjoy seeing Faunus getting bullied, is that it?”  Finally he could stomach no more.  He put his hand over Coco’s mouth, silencing the irate girl.

“First off, you should be politer to people who can kill you.  Secondly, never, EVER accuse me of racism.  I have been the victim of more prejudice in my lifetime than you could possibly imagine.”  Azrael released his student, who stood there, speechless.  “And finally, I am fully aware of Mister Winchester’s…shortcomings.  I chose to pair the two of them together with Lucatiel for a good reason.”

Coco finally found her voice again.  “And what reason could that possibly be?”

“Lucatiel has been the victim of just as much prejudice as I have for her disfigurement.”  Not strictly a lie, as the massive mark on her face was a telltale symptom of the Undead curse.  “As you know, she is a particularly…direct person.”  Coco winced as she remembered the woman’s training session with her from Monday.  “Miss Scarlatina will be fine, and I believe Mister Winchester may learn a few things as well.  Do you trust me, Coco?”  Azrael looked at the girl with a fatherly expression.

Coco’s face softened from outrage to humility.  “Of course I trust you, sir.  It’s just…I’m her leader, I’m supposed to watch out for her.”

“Incorrect.  You are supposed to lead.  Part of leadership means doing anything to help your team grow as warriors, and as people.  You cannot continue to coddle her like this, or she will never be able to function on her own.”

“Of course, sir.  I’m sorry.”

“Words are useless to me.  Don’t tell me you’re sorry.  Show me.”

* * *

Two days later, Azrael’s students had all gathered at the three bullheads waiting to take them to their missions, but Azrael and the other Undead were nowhere to be seen.  Finally, it was time for departure, but they still had not shown up.  The pilots ushered the confused students into their respective ships and took off anyway.

Yang decided enough was enough.  She banged her fist hard on the cockpit door, demanding to know where her instructor was.

“Seriously, what the hell?  He said he would be waiting for us!”

“He is, ma’am.  Azrael told us to pick him up in the city.”

“What? Why would he do that?”

“That’s need-to-know, and I don’t need to know.  I’m just here to drop you off.”

“Fine, be that way, jerk!”

Yang sat back down, thoroughly unsatisfied.  Fifteen minutes later, the bullhead finally began to descend, slowly alighting on a rooftop where Azrael was waiting for them.

Their teacher looked strangely more tense than normal, as if he was a coiled snake, ready to strike.  He was wearing the same helmet and armor from the night they fought the White Fang, and he had his giant “halberd” across his back, along with a metal shield that emanated a strangely comforting green glow.  But when they looked closer, they noticed he had brought two more weapons.  The first was a large dagger with a curved edge (they didn’t want to think about how much damage such a broad blade could do to somebody’s body).  But the second weapon is what really drew their attention: it was the katana Azrael kept locked in the glass case in his classroom.  Blake was shocked that Azrael had brought the Chaos Blade after all of his warnings against her touching it.  Did he think he might actually need such a dangerous weapon?

“Sir, why did you…” the cat Faunus started before trailing off, finding herself unable to fully voice the question on the mind of all four girls.

“Because I have no idea what we will be facing inside Mountain Glenn, and it is best to be prepared for every eventuality.”

Ruby couldn’t help herself but ask.  “What _is_ that sword, Prof—Azrael?” Ruby remembered how he had asked them not to call him by his title.

“It is a very old, very sharp, very angry weapon, Ruby.  And hopefully I will not have to use it.  Now, if you would, I would prefer to focus on not falling out of this death trap.”  Team RWBY suddenly noticed that Azrael had been gripping the support bar for the bullhead so tightly that the metal had begun to bend.

All four girls burst out laughing, amazed that their intimidating teacher was afraid of heights.  Weiss quickly demonstrated to her mentor how to use the safety belt, which calmed him down considerably, but he remained somewhat tense.  _This is going to be a long trip._

* * *

Coco sat next to Mercury, unhappy with her assignment.  Not only would Velvet be without her, but she was forced to go on a mission with that absolute douche, Cardin Winchester.  She trusted her teacher, but she still didn’t like it.  Deciding it was best not to dwell on things she had no control over, Coco looked toward their faculty escort for the mission.  Vengarl had not brought any extra gear—or even rations—for the mission, which struck Coco as odd, but then, they _were_ going to a town.  Perhaps he had assumed that there would be an inn where he could eat, or maybe he had put his gear in the spare room of one of the three other bullheads following them that had been laden with supplies.  _Come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Azrael in the cafeteria.  Strange,_ she thought.

Turning to his six charges, Vengarl began to discuss what they knew about the mission.  “I would prefer to have as much knowledge as possible before I go in, in case we land in the middle of a battle.  What do we know about this place?  Size, defenses, number of soldiers, will we have any backup?”  The enormous man surprised all six of them with the thoroughness of his questions.  It was abundantly clear that Vengarl had some sort of military background.  Neptune knew that Azrael came from Atlas, maybe he and Vengarl had served together in the army there.

Sage began listing off everything he knew from the mission briefing they had received from Doctor Oobleck.  “The town is called Fort Alcova.  It’s nestled between steep cliffs on three sides, but they’ve built a series of elevators up and down the cliffs.  At the top are a large number of small farms that take advantage of the plentiful sunlight and mild weather to grow food for the town, and the elevators are sturdy enough to allow the farmers to evacuate down into the town proper in case of Grimm attacks.  There’s a standing militia, but a series of Grimm assaults on the town has significantly lowered their numbers.  The only way into the town by land is a narrow ravine, but the local Beowolves have gotten good at climbing the sides, so the bottleneck does nothing but close off Alcovan citizens’ escape route.  There was a Huntsman staying in town, but he was killed in the last Grimm attack.  Apparently, there were hundreds of Grimm.”  Vengarl closed his eyes and took a moment to silently honor the man’s sacrifice.  _After all, somebody has to._

“Alright.  We will be setting down by one of the farms, unless the situation requires immediate intervention.  The three supply drops will land in the town itself and we will assess the town’s artificial defenses.”  Two of the bullheads held food, water, medicine, and ammunition, but Vengarl had ordered a third, much larger supply ship to bring as much lumber as it could bear, in case the village did not have any intact walls.

Neptune, you and Scarlet unload the food and water.  Sun, Coco, I want the two of you unloading the ammunition and medicine.  Take the medicine first and prioritize any sick villagers.  Sage and Mercury, you two will be with me; we will be repairing any damaged fortifications or erecting new ones if necessary.”  Everyone nodded, aware of their roles.  Although Mercury groaned inwardly, he knew better than to complain to Vengarl—it was wise not to disobey orders from men who could snap you in two without much effort.  For now, he would blend in with the class, and that meant helping these schmucks out.

The remainder of the trip was uneventful, although Vengarl did learn about something called “landing strategies” for dropping into heavy combat from high up, and it gave him some ideas.  It was almost sundown by the time they neared the town—and Coco saw smoke rising from the ravine.  It looked like Fort Alcova was making its final stand.

Vengarl immediately began bellowing orders out the open door to the pilots.  “Supplies, circle around!  Stay away from the fight!  If we lose that medicine, we lose Alcova!”  He stuck his head back into the vehicle, banging on the cockpit.  “Get us down there, NOW!”  The students readied their weapons, and once the bullhead reached the top of the cliffs, everybody jumped out.  Most of the students fell straight down, using the recoil of their guns—loaded with gravity Dust for extra effect—to slow their descent, while Sage and Vengarl, lacking firearms, angled themselves for the cliff and plunged their swords into the rock and slid down into the fray.

* * *

Lucatiel had not been on a reconnaissance mission in decades, and it was one streak she hated breaking.  She was a warrior, not a damn scout.  However, at the moment she was more concerned with keeping all her young charges alive.

They had landed in the Emerald Forest without incident, and now they were tracking the herd of massive elephantine Grimm that lay somewhere in the area.  They needed to find the herd, and collect enough information to form a strategy to deal with it—apparently fully mature Behemoths could grow to over 80 feet in height on all fours, and this herd had at least six adults.

Lucatiel had decided to keep the six students together for the first day.  Scouting missions could sometimes go on for a week or more if you were unlucky or unskilled.  _Or if you had to corral six whelps,_ Lucatiel thought cynically.

Eventually, night began to fall and it was time to make camp.  Lucatiel put the students into pairs for setting up camp, keeping it relatively simple: Jaune and Pyrrha, Nora and Ren, and the two misfits Cardin and Velvet.  She had noticed quite a bit of animosity coming off of the large boy’s soul all day, seemingly directed at the rabbit girl.  To remedy this, Lucatiel gave them a pair of shovels and had them collect firewood.  _Nothing better for bonding than backbreaking labor._

After thirty minutes, everything was in order and the sun had nearly set.  “Alright, everybody pay attention.  I will be taking up watch for the south, but one of you will have to take up the north watch.  Velvet, you’re first, then Pyrrha, then Ren.  Four hour shifts, and when your shift is over, silently wake the next watch.”   Nora raised her hand.  “This isn’t a classroom Valkyrie, we don’t raise our hands in the field.”

“Yes, well, ma’am, who takes second watch on the south side?”  Pyrrha looked on, amused by something.

“Nobody does.  I don’t sleep.”  Everybody but Pyrrha appeared skeptical.  “Know this, children.  I will not fail in my duty, but if you fail yours, the Behemoths will be the least of your problems.”  Lucatiel looked at Velvet, who apparently had something to say, but seemed hesitant to speak.  “Speak up, Scarlatina, we don’t have all night.”

“I should take second watch, ma’am.”

Lucatiel frowned.  “And what makes you believe you are more qualified than I am to make that decision?”  The Faunus blanched, cowed by Lucatiel’s harsh tone.  Pyrrha and Ren both opened their mouths to defend Velvet, but a glare from their teacher stopped them.  Lucatiel continued, “you are barely more than a child.  I am a seasoned veteran who was killing beasts larger and more dangerous than these Behemoths before you were even a thought in your father’s eye.  So please, enlighten me.  Why should I listen to you at all?”  Surprisingly, it was Cardin who spoke up.

“Since the bunny’s too spooked to respond, I’ll tell you that she’s right.  She should take second watch because it’s always the darkest part of night.”

“And what does that have to do with anything?”

“She’s a Faunus.”

“Is that supposed to tell me anything?”

“They have perfect vision in the dark, idiot.”  A fist very quickly silenced Cardin.

“Never insult someone who can kill you, Winchester.  But I did not know that,” Lucatiel said to Cardin’s unconscious form.  “Very well.  Velvet will switch.  Pyrrha, you’re first, then Velvet, then Ren.  First watch starts in an hour.”  The teacher walked away, preparing for twelve hours of defending the south side of camp from unwanted guests.

Cardin groaned and slowly came to, holding his head in his hands.  “What happened?”

“Lucatiel was terrorizing me and you stood up to her,” Velvet said.  “Thank you.”

Cardin shook off her offered hand and stood up on his own.  “Whatever.  So, that’s what it feels like to get my ass kicked by a girl, huh?  There isn’t as much shame as I expected.”

“That’s because none of us are going to belittle you for doing a brave thing like that.  She could have killed you for all you knew,” Ren added.

“Yeah right, like our teacher would just kill one of us.”

Pyrrha chimed in, “Lucatiel isn’t our teacher, Azrael is.”  There was a heavy pause as the six students considered just how little they knew about Lucatiel.  Eventually Jaune broke the silence.

“Anyway, we have to eat, so let’s get some food in us.  Nora, please tell me you didn’t eat our rations.”

“Of course not, Jaune!  Ren didn’t even _bring_ any pancakes!”  Nora’s smile seemed undercut by a vein of quiet desperation in her eyes.  Everyone laughed at this—even Cardin chuckled a little despite the headache.


	14. Trouble in Fort Alcova

After a long day of investigating Mountain Glenn and clearing out the occasional packs of Grimm, Azrael ordered Team RWBY to make camp in an abandoned parking garage.

“You can eat, but don’t light any fires.  I will be going out to patrol the area for signs of larger Grimm activity.  Blake, you take first watch.  Four hour shifts, you can decide who gets to go second.  I will be back at dawn and we will get moving to the next area of town.  Questions?”

“Are you sure you’re not still mad about Zwei?”

“Yes, Ruby I’m sure.  Just don’t keep a secret like that from me again.”

“Thank you, sir.”  Azrael nodded and left the building, eager to face down an enormous beast that had been following them for the last three hours.  Despite its size, it made no noise as it stalked the five of them, but Azrael knew exactly what it was, and that concerned him.  Azrael could’ve sworn that he had killed all of the Pontiff’s manbeasts.

When Azrael had felt Lucatiel and Vengarl arrive—honestly, it was lucky that he hadn’t been sparring with his students at the time, or he might’ve missed them; his Darksign had trouble sensing faraway Undead unless they had just arrived—he had been afraid something like this could happen.  He thanked Velka that nothing—and more importantly, no _one_ —else had followed his friends through.  He had killed plenty of the crocodilian monstrosities in his time, and today he had brought a very sharp knife.

As he left the building, Azrael heard a faint conversation between the girls as they prepared to rest, but whatever they decided to speak about didn’t particularly concern him.  He had a monster to hunt, and one very important thing to think about.  One of the items he had stored in the Bottomless Box that Vengarl had returned to him was a red coiled sword.  As far as battlefield applications went, it was useless as anything more than a simple blunt instrument, but it wasn’t meant for fighting.  Under the right conditions and with the proper geography, the coiled sword could be used to create a permanent bonfire.  And since Lucatiel and Vengarl had figured out a way to travel from Majula to Remnant—with some method of returning—that meant that setting up a bonfire would not necessarily trap him in this world, but there was a problem.

Specifically, that the “right conditions” included the live human sacrifice of a branded Undead.  He would have to find a Hollow in Remnant.  He didn’t doubt that Lucatiel or Vengarl would be willing to give up their life for it, but he refused to discard their millennia of loyalty for something so trite.  Pushing those grim thoughts from his mind, Azrael focused on luring the beast away from his sleeping students.  He would prefer not to involve them in this fight; their presence would only distract him and provide the Pontiff’s manbeast with four more targets.

Gritting his teeth and bracing himself for a chase, Azrael pulled his bandit knife from its sheath and activated his pyromancy flame—he remembered all too well how quickly these beasts could be bled and burned.  Azrael pulled out a special item he had brought with him, just in case he found a need for it: a small human skull that emitted a soft blue glow.  Aiming down the street and away from Team RWBY, the Undead warrior hurled the alluring skull as far as he could and began sprinting after it.

Back at the garage, Yang, Ruby, and Weiss had settled down to catch some sleep while Blake listened intently for any Grimm entering the building.  She heard a far off shattering noise, followed by a horrifying screech, at once shrill and deep, as if some enormous monster had issued a challenge to anyone who could hear: _fight me now, or die_.  Blake clasped her ears as the loud screech echoed through the girls’ camp, waking up her three teammates. And their stowaway.  Before Zwei could start barking and give them away, Yang leapt on top of him and covered his mouth.

Eventually the scream faded, taking far longer than it should have to dwindle.  Yang let go of the small dog, and the girls all looked at each other with one thing on their minds: their teacher.

Blake’s voice was barely above a whisper.  “Weiss, do you think he’s in trouble?”

“I don’t think so.  Winter once showed me a video of him fighting four…things that had followed him from Lothric.  It was incredible; he moved like he wasn’t even solid.  If there’s something out there that can kill him, then…”  She didn’t need to finish her thought for her teammates to understand.

“Well, in any case, we need to sleep,” Ruby piped up, taking charge.  “We won’t be helping anybody if we can’t even keep our eyes open tomorrow.  We’ll get some rest, then tomorrow we’ll go find him.  Blake, get back to your watch; the rest of us will go to bed.”  Picking up Zwei, Ruby took him over to her sleeping roll and settled down, ready to face whatever beast had made such a horrifying sound in the morning.

* * *

Clayton Cherry had spent the entire day fighting the Grimm, and he had long since given up hope that he would see another sunrise.  Bleeding from dozens of small wounds, the de facto leader of the town guards was about to order the 14 men still alive to retreat back into the town proper when he saw three bullheads flying in over the cliff edges that surrounded his home.  Seven figures jumped from the closest vehicle, and Clay couldn’t believe it—Beacon had sent not one, but half a dozen huntsmen.  Five of them simply dropped straight down firing their weapons into the mass of Grimm at the town gates, while the two largest angled themselves towards the cliff, creating two parallel scars in the rock as they carved their way down the side of the ravine.

By the time Sage and Vengarl reached the ravine, the other Huntsman-in-training had already begun to tear into the Grimm attacking Fort Alcova.  Coco, Scarlet, and Neptune stood on top of two intact buildings laying down a hail of weapon fire while Sun used his semblance to project explosive clones, taking out Beowolves with every detonation, and Mercury charged into the fray, using his shotgun-equipped boots to take out Grimm with ease, but there were hundreds of Grimm pouring into the canyon.  It looked like the tide was about to turn against the students when Vengarl finally descended into the fray and began slaughtering Grimm left and right.  The tone of the battle changed so quickly it was almost shocking, even to his students.  Every single strike cut Beowolves and Creeps in half, and even Ursas lost limbs to Vengarl’s fury.

The battleground was soon clear of Grimm, if only for a moment.  “Sage, Mercury, fall back and get these men back to town, make sure they survive.  Use some of your own Aura to heal them if you must!”  Vengarl noticed that the town’s barricades had been all but destroyed.  Calling up to the rooftops, Vengarl continued, “Coco and Neptune I need your technical skills.  Get down here and see what you can do about these barriers.  Sun, Scarlet, keep up the fire and keep me from being overwhelmed.  If you have to, let the bigger ones through, I can deal with them on my own.”  All six students followed his orders flawlessly, knowing that every second counted.  Soon all the negative emotions from the attack would draw even more Grimm to the town, and they would have to be ready.

For the next half hour, all seven fighters held off the Grimm onslaught with ease, working together like a well-oiled machine.  Eventually, Coco and Mercury had fixed the walls as best they could, putting up decent walls to help herd any Grimm into a narrow passage where Sun’s projections could explode easily kill multiple Grimm with each explosion.  Mercury and Sage got all 15 fifteen town guards back behind the strong walls of Fort Alcova and stabilized the four of them with the most concerning injuries.  They would not be able to help fight, but they would live for now.

Finally, the flow of Grimm started to ebb, and the townspeople had stopped panicking.  Looking around, Vengarl wiped the blood of his swords with the only one of his furs not itself entirely soaked in blood and walked back to the town gates.  Scarlet and Sun jumped down off of their respective roofs and joined him.  “Damn, sir.  You were scary to watch,” Sun said.  Inwardly, Vengarl grinned.  It seemed that even thousands of years after he had left the violent path he once walked, Vengarl could still play the part of the Mad Warrior of Forossa.

“Never be afraid of your allies, no matter how intimidating, Mister Wukong.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s smart.  So, what do we do now?”

They had reached the gates, which the mayor had opened as soon as he was certain the attack was over.  Vengarl walked through, ignoring the Faunus man’s effusive praise.  “We proceed as originally planned.  Call down the bullheads and find Coco to ration out the ammunition and medicine.  The injured guards who can be put back on their feet take triage priority above all else.”  Vengarl turned to Scarlet.  “First, bring me Mercury and Sage, then take Neptune with you to unload the food and water.”

Scarlet and Sun hurried off with their objectives.  Even though the fight with the Grimm was finished, bandits could attack the town, weakened as it was by the attack.  Vengarl finally turned to the mayor, a deer Faunus complete with antlers who had been standing silently behind the enormous man.  “Sir, we are from Beacon.  My name is Vengarl, and we’re here to help.”

“Yes, yes, of course, you must be the Huntsman Ozpin promised!  Your timing really is impeccable, you know.  Another few minutes and our guards would have been overwhelmed.  Unfortunately, we have almost no Dust left for our weapons.  But that’s not your fault, thank you so much.”  The words pushed their way out of his mouth in a hurry, as if he might explode if he didn’t say them quickly enough.

“Calm down, sir.  We brought two bulkheads filled with food, water, Dust shells, and medicine.”  The mayor’s eyes lit up.  This was more than he could have possibly hoped for.

“You—you’re serious?  Well, thank you so much again!  Name your price, and if it exists within Fort Alcova, it will be yours.”

“I have no need for a reward, although my students would like lodging and dinner.  I was ordered here by Ozpin and Azrael.”

“Azrael?  Who is that?” The mayor responded, his brain not yet comprehending everything Vengarl had said.  “Wait.  Did you say you don’t want a reward?  But…we have to thank you some way!”

“The words are enough for me.  I have no need for creature comforts of payment.  As for your question, Azrael is my liege lord, that is all you need to know.  He asked me to stay here until I was certain the town would be safe, and so I have.”

The knowledge that Alcova not only had seven new defenders, but would not have to pay Vengarl the rate for a full Hunstman, proved too much for the mayor, who fainted in shock.  Vengarl removed his bloodstained helmet and turned to the nearest villager.  “Please tell me there is somebody I can talk to about rebuilding your town’s defenses.  The young woman nodded meekly.  “Where are they?”  She pointed toward the wounded guard captain Clayton Cherry.  “Excellent.  Are you okay?”  Another nod.  “Good.  Please go to an inn and prepare three rooms for my students, they will need rest tonight.”  Seeing the question before the girl could stutter it out, Vengarl continued, “I do not need a room.  I will be overseeing repairs and taking sentry duty tonight, but I thank you for the sentiment.”

Sarah nodded humbly and ran off in the direction of her uncle’s inn.  He would never believe this.

* * *

Velvet was crouched near a tree next to Pyrrha, deep in thought.  Lucatiel had sent the two of them to try and find any tracks to the west of their base camp, and the girls had not had any luck so far, but neither their lack of success nor their severe teacher occupied Velvet at the moment.  The person she could not stop thinking about was Cardin—most specifically, his confrontation with Lucatiel the night before.  _Why did he stand up for me last night?  He’s not stupid, he had to know what would happen._   He had actually called Lucatiel an idiot to her face!  As far as Velvet was considered, he was lucky to be alive.  Lucatiel seemed like she was about to draw her sword, and everybody knew exactly who would win that fight.

Deciding she would have to ask him in private, Velvet got back to the task at hand.  As a Faunus, her senses were much sharper than even Pyrrha’s, and made her a natural tracker.  Her lack of weapons meant that Lucatiel paired her up with the most capable warrior of the students, and so here the pair of girls were, searching the forest for Behemoth tracks.  They had been at it for almost six hours with no results so far, and were about to return to camp to report their failure, when they heard a series of loud thuds begin to echo to the west.  Eventually, the thuds started to grow in intensity.  Looking at Pyrrha, Velvet could tell that she had come to the same conclusion: they had found the herd, and it was heading this way.  Pyrrha gestured for Velvet to turn on her scroll’s camera, and the two students found a nearby tree suitable for climbing and hiding.  They would wait and hope that the Behemoths did not notice them.  If they were spotted, there would be only two options.

Run, or die.

* * *

Blake listened closely, still on first watch, as she could hear whatever had made that horrible shriek earlier was locked in battle with someone, and it sounded like that someone was losing.  Her sensitive cat ears picked up every clang of metal on bone, every snap of the beast’s jaws, every scrape of teeth chomping through concrete and armor.  There wasn’t a single doubt in the Faunus’s mind that whatever was out there was fighting Azrael—and it sounded like Azrael was losing.

Blake’s eyes wandered around camp until they fell upon the Chaos Blade, resting in the far corner of the garage, far away from Team RWBY’s sleeping area.  Even though it was over a hundred feet away, Blake could still feel it calling to her, practically begging her to release it from its scabbard.  Blake snapped her gaze away from the demonic sword and looked over to her teammates.  Ruby, Zwei, and Weiss were all sleeping soundly, but Yang—her sleeping bag situated closest to Azrael’s intimidating katana—seemed to be tossing and turning in her sleep.  Unable to do anything, but knowing exactly what was causing her teammate’s restless sleep, Blake sighed and sat next to the blonde brawler, ready to hold her down if she woke up in a panic lest she alert any nearby Grimm.

Focusing her hearing again, Blake went pale.  She heard an enormous crash, followed by another one, as if from far away, and then nothing.  Something had happened and Azrael was no longer fighting.  Cursing herself, Blake shook Yang awake, ignoring the brawler’s protests.  “I need you to take over my watch.  Something’s happened to Azrael.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I could hear him fighting…something.”

“And?”

“I heard a huge noise, like somebody had crashed through a building.  Then nothing.”

Yang stood straight up.  “Well I’m not letting you go on your own.”

Blake frowned.  “You don’t understand.  I need you to watch Weiss and Ruby to make sure they’re okay.”  Yang’s look of determination faded as logic set in.

“Alright, fine.  I’ll give you an hour before we come looking for you.  If you two find something cool, I’m not letting you hide it from us!”  Blake sighed and left, but not before grabbing the Chaos Blade, just in case.

* * *

Cardin was having a lot of trouble following Lucatiel.  For somebody wearing such a big sword and shield, the warrior moved surprisingly quickly and quietly as the pair of them tracked a stray Behemoth, and according to Lucatiel, it was a young one—perhaps it would be small enough to kill.  Cardin’s head still hurt from the night before, and he was still angry with Lucatiel for it, but he knew better than to speak.  He was also confused with himself; why had he even bothered sticking up for the animal?  It’s not like she had ever done anything for him besides provide a source of entertainment for him and his teammates as they pushed her around in the lunchroom whenever they thought Coco wasn’t looking.

Suddenly, Cardin ran right into Lucatiel, who had abruptly stopped moving.  Rather than the pair of them falling over, it felt as though Cardin had run into a concrete wall.  For the first time in four hours, his teacher spoke.  “Here, this place is as good as any.”  She turned to Cardin and her expression grew dark, causing the boy to stumble backwards in fear.  “You will explain your treatment of Miss Scarlatina here and now.  I am not as forgiving as Azrael; lie to me and you will die.”

“What are you talking about?  I was right, she can see in the dark, it made sense to have her as second watch.”

“That’s not what I was referring to, although your attitude did need an adjustment.  I already punished you for that.  I am talking about you calling her ‘animal’.  She’s a Faunus, not some rutting beast, and yet you seem to think that because she has rabbit ears, she’s going to start breeding with Beowolves.”  Cardin was speechless.  Lucatiel was right, but he couldn’t believe she would just come out and accuse him like that?  Before he responded, Lucatiel spoke again.  “Don’t forget, I will know if you lie.”

Cardin composed himself and responded, “I’m not a racist.  I just understand biology.  Those animals are exactly that: animals.  No matter how much everybody pretends they’re the same as us, they aren’t.  They may as well be half-Grimm.”

It was Lucatiel’s turn to be speechless, followed almost immediately by a number of memories.  Memories of her treatment in Mirrah.  Memories of blatant racism, similar to what she was listening to at that moment.  _“Get out of here, abomination.  We don’t sell weapons to monsters.”  “You’re halfway to hollow already, get the fuck out of my town.”  “I have no daughter.”_   Lucatiel had to stop herself from drawing her sword and slaughtering Cardin where he stood.

“I told you not to lie.”

“I didn’t.”

“‘I’m not a racist.’  You lied.”  Cardin blanched, believing that the remainder of his life would be measured in seconds, but then he looked at Lucatiel’s face, and saw the anger had dissipated.  Instead, he saw tears.  His hand fell from the hilt of his mace.

“I…I don’t understand.”

Lucatiel spent the next hour explaining her history and the curse of the Undead.  How she had been cast out of Mirrah by her father shortly after Aslatiel had left for Drangleic, how she had met and fought alongside Azrael, and how he had eventually broken the curse with the power of the lost crowns of Brume Tower, Frozen Eleum Loyce, and Shulva the sanctum city.  As Cardin stood there, frozen in shock—more from the revelation that Lucatiel could cry than at her being an immortal warrior from another world—Lucatiel recounted fighting Nashandra and the other fragments of Manus with Benhart, Vengarl, and Azrael.

“Have you ever been spit on by your spouse?  What about your own mother, Winchester?  Did you spend decades sleeping in the dirt because nobody would allow you to even sleep in their barn?” Lucatiel had raised her voice to a near shout.  “Tell me, Cardin Winchester, have you ever even been inconvenienced in your pampered life before you met Azrael?”  Cardin simply stood there, dumbstruck, as Lucatiel screamed at him.  “WELL? ANSWER ME!”

Cardin choked out an answer, almost a whisper.  “N-no.  No ma’am.”

 The woman’s voice finally returned to a more normal volume.  “Then how can you possibly claim to know anything at all about what Velvet or any other Faunus has gone through in their life?

“I can’t.  I’m sorry.”

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to.”

“That’s not what I meant.  I’m sorry about those things that happened to you…I didn’t…” Cardin trailed off.

“It’s none of your concern.  Now come, we need to return to the camp.  It will be dark soon.”  Lucatiel turned to head back to the clearing where she and the students had set up a small outpost, but paused.  “And, do me a favor.”

“Of course.”

“Don’t mention this to any of your classmates.”

“Of course.”

“Now let’s get back.”

“Of course.”

“And stop saying that.”

“Of—yes, ma’am.”

The pair began the long trek back to camp.  Lucatiel was optimistic.  Azrael had warned her that the boy’s bias might prove problematic, but all things considered, it looked like Cardin might be turning over a new leaf.  She smiled softly as she trudged north.

* * *

Azrael began to reconsider the series of decisions that had lead him into his current predicament—trapped in the jaws of one of the Pontiff’s beasts, unable to reach his weapons and too exhausted to use any meaningful pyromancy to free himself.  After throwing the lure, Azrael had chased the beast down and lured it over a mile away from Team RWBY’s position before he pulled out his knife and engaged it.  For a little while the fight had been going well aside from a few stray swipes of the thing’s claws catching his shoulder guards and leggings.  Then the ground beneath the two of them collapsed under the weight of the pair.  Apparently, there was an entire underground city beneath Mountain Glenn.  Azrael bounced off of several concrete walls and eventually landed on solid ground, while the beast had simply torn a giant hole in a nearby building with its impact.  As Azrael shook the stars from his eyes, the beast erupted from the building, catching him off guard—and inside its mouth.

And so here he was, slowly being crushed by Pontiff Sulyvahn’s final insult.  He had hoped he would outlive Weiss—or at least survived in this world long enough to establish a way to travel back and forth between Majula and Remnant.  The odds of either of those outcomes occurring were looking worse and worse as Azrael felt the strength slowly draining from his limbs.  He was absurdly strong, but even the strongest stone eventually gave way to erosion.  _Looks like I should’ve brought the_ -at that moment, the very weapon Azrael had been thinking of, the Chaos Blade, burst through the roof of the beast’s mouth.  Motionless for a moment, Azrael seized on the opportunity and shoved the enormous jaws off of his hands, jumping out of the monster’s giant maw as he heard a young girl screaming in pain.

Rolling as he hit the ground, he saw who had saved him from Sulyvahn’s pet.  Standing on top of the now dead monster was Blake Belladonna, the Chaos Blade in her hand and an enormous gash on her left arm.  Azrael tackled her to the ground and wrested the sword from her hands before Quelaag could compel her to do any more damage to herself.  Sheathing the sword and ignoring the voice blasting inside his head, Azrael spent some of his last remaining energy to summon a warmth spell to heal the unconscious girl’s arm.  As the cut sealed itself, Azrael shook his head, disgusted by his own foolishness.  How could he be so thoughtless as to leave the blade in the garage?  He had thought that keeping it far away from the girls would prevent it from influencing them, but clearly Quelaag’s voice had reached Blake.

The Faunus’s eyes fluttered open and she gasped, her right arm flying to the wound, where a thin scar ran along the edge where her skin had split open.  She looked at the dead monster she had killed and felt her Aura surge as half of the beast’s soul was absorbed by it.  Azrael was shocked—as far as he knew, one had to be an Undead to absorb souls, but Blake’s Aura had done it just as well as his Darksign.  Quickly coming back to their situation, Azrael practically dragged Blake into a nearby building before any Grimm might see them.

“Miss Belladonna, I’m sorry that I put you in danger.”  Blake’s reaction was not what Azrael expected.

“You put ME in danger?” Blake almost yelled.  “You were inside that thing’s mouth!  Why not ask us for help?”

“I did not want you to slow me down.  If you had seen the fight you would understand just how dangerous that manbeast was.”

“Manbeast?”

“A creature from my world.  Originally a human—before Sulyvahn, Pontiff of the Deep, got to them.  I believed all of them to be dead, but apparently one followed Lucatiel and Vengarl to Remnant.  Thank you for the rescue, by the way.  Again, I am sorry.  I thought placing the Chaos Blade far away from the four of you would protect you from its influence.  Clearly I was wrong.”

“You weren’t wrong.  I picked it up of my own free will.”

“YOU WHAT?”  It was Azrael’s turn to yell.  “I told you how dangerous it is!  How could you possibly think that bringing it along would end well?”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“It did.  And if I had not taken it from your hands as quickly as I did, you would have slit your own throat.”

Blake’s eyes went wide.  “What do you mean?”

“You felt the blade’s bite when you killed the manbeast.  Its thirst for blood is unquenchable.  Realizing that you would not land a single blow upon me, Quelaag would have forced you to turn the sword upon yourself.”  Blake couldn’t believe how close she had come to death.  “Well, at any rate, we both survived, so that’s a plus.  It would seem Mountain Glenn has more secrets than I had anticipated.  Now, how do you propose we return to the others?”

“We won’t have to.  I told Yang I was leaving, and she promised to bring Weiss and Ruby after me if I took too long.  They’ll be here within an hour, and then they will just lower some rope down to us.”

“Impressive foresight, Blake.  For now, let’s see what we can learn about this place.”  With that, Azrael and Blake began searching through the building for anything to indicate why an entire city existed below Mountain Glenn.  After only ten minutes, however, Blake heard a familiar voice and froze.

“Azrael,” she whispered.

“What is it?”

“Can you hear that?”

Azrael focused for a second before nodding.  “Torchwick.  Looks like our objective just changed.”

* * *

Vengarl had not commanded a garrison in quite some time, but now he found himself ordering the rebuilding of barriers, rationing out food supplies to the residents of Fort Alcova, and overseeing the treatment of injured town guards.  It had been a full day since he and the students had saved the town from the brink of destruction, and the three bullheads had returned to Beacon, their payloads fully delivered.  Mercury and Sage proved very effective at fixing the barricades; Sage’s brute strength meshed well with the Mistral boy’s natural aptitude for engineering.  Coco and Neptune had taken the elevator up to the farms and had spread out, patrolling the edges for any sign of Grimm, but the sun was going down soon, so Vengarl sent Sun and Scarlet to relieve them of duty.

Thanks to Sage and Mercury’s quick action during their arrival, all fifteen guards would survive.  Although two would be permanently hobbled and three more would not be able to fight again for months, they would live, and the rest would be back to full strength within a week.  All in all, Vengarl chalked this one up as a success.

He had been talking to the captain of the guard, a young man named Clayton Cherry.  Although a likeable and capable guard, the boy was clearly out of his depth.  He had become the captain a week before, when all three senior guards had been killed and Clay was the only remaining ranking officer.  Vengarl had seen it happen many times: often times during long sieges, the chain of command grew murky as officers died in battle, and newer, inexperienced officers were forced into command.  Vengarl estimated that even if they had survived the battle, Fort Alcova would have fallen within a month without their timely arrival.

Vengarl settled into his lookout above the town gates.  Coco had received a message from Ozpin: it would be at least two months before Beacon would be able to send a Huntsman to occupy the town and protect it from further harm.  For the moment, it looked like Vengarl and the students were going to stick around.

* * *

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, on the dark nameless continent in the northwest of Remnant, Salem considered what she had learned from Cinder and her lackeys.  Not only was this Azrael monstrously powerful, not only was he unlikely to join her cause, but now there were two more warriors with him, both of them unshakably loyal to him!  This was a problem.  Luckily, Salem had an ace in the hole.

Which is why she had left her tower and now stood next to a single pool filled with a dark liquid.  Unlike the pools she used to spawn the creatures of Grimm, this pool held a human body inside it.  Summoning a large chunk of her power, Salem crouched next to the swirling pool and placed both of her hands inside, channeling a huge amount of strength inside it.  After several moments, a dark-haired woman slowly rose from the pool, her pristine white cloak blood-stained and tattered, and her once silver eyes now completely black.

“Hello, Summer.  I have a mission for you.”

“Yes, Mistress.  What is your will?”


	15. No Breaks or Brakes

Yang couldn’t take all this waiting around.  It had only been ten minutes since Blake left to find Azrael, but the brawler was already climbing the walls in anxiety.  What if something had happened to her partner?  Yang knew she would never forgive herself if something had happened to Blake.  Just as she was about to wake Weiss and Ruby, a piercing shriek—very clearly originating from a young woman—did the job for her.

Yang’s teammates both jolted upright and looked around, wondering what had jostled out of their sleep.  “Yang, what’s going on?  Where’s Blake?” Ruby asked, still half-asleep.

“She went to find Azrael and she’s in trouble.  Wake Zwei up, we’re going after them.”

Weiss rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and stood up, ready to chase after her mentor and her partner.  Blake had confided in them after the incident with Torchwick and the stolen Atlas mechs that she was both a Faunus and a former member of the White Fang.  Weiss imagined that coming out with that information must have been extremely hard for the girl, especially considering Weiss’s name (and more specifically, her father’s business practices).  The heiress was resolved; she would not let _anything_ hurt her friend.  She was likely with Azrael, in which case Blake would likely be fine, but if she wasn’t then they had to find her.  The three girls packed all of their sleeping gear away and hid it so that stray Grimm would not come upon it, then set out to find Blake, with Zwei leading the way.  The dog seemed oddly eager to find the only girl in Team RWBY who wanted very little to do with him.

* * *

Lucatiel and Cardin were sprinting back towards camp.  They had felt large tremors in the ground when they were about ten miles away and knew exactly what it meant: the Behemoth herd they were tracking had appeared and, based on how close the ground-shaking felt, the group of enormous Grimm had reached their camp.  Cardin made a mental note to thank Azrael for all the conditioning he had made them go through.  If they hadn’t the boy would’ve collapsed from exhaustion after only a few minutes.  As they came within a mile of the camp, they saw the telltale crest of bone armor appearing over the horizon, and heard a barrage of gunshots and explosions.  It seemed that Jaune, Ren, and Nora had also felt the tremors.  Impressed that none of her charges had died yet, Lucatiel pushed herself even harder, covering the final kilometer in just over 40 seconds.

When she arrived at the battle, she could see Ren and Nora battling a small Behemoth—small being a relative term; the creature was over thirty feet tall—while Jaune was situated in a tree, seemingly doing nothing.

“Arc!  What the hell are you doing?” Lucatiel yelled out as she ran underneath the Grimm, drawing her sword and slashing at its ankles, nearly severing one of its feet in the process.  Noticing two more Behemoths close by, Lucatiel’s patience with the blonde boy ran out.  “Get in the fight, NOW!”

“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing!” Almost immediately, Jaune drew his sword and launched himself from his perch, landing blade-first on top of one of the Behemoth’s skulls, killing it instantly.

 _Well, never mind then_.  “Good work, Arc.  But there are at least four more.”  An enormous crash was heard, as a Behemoth in the distance collapsed under Pyrrha’s blade.  “Make that three,” Lucatiel said, immediately understanding who was responsible.  As she spoke, the Behemoth behind her also fell to the ground, with Nora’s hammer embedded two feet into its spine.  “Alright, two more then.”  _So much for “recon”._

Cardin finally caught up with Lucatiel, sliding to a stop right next to her as Pyrrha and Velvet ran in from the west.  The last two Behemoths finally appeared, and Team JNPR blanched.  Each one on these was at least 90 feet tall and covered in bone armor nearly head to toe.  The few places not armored had clusters of large spikes protruding from them.

“All of you need to leave.”  All six students stared at her, unwilling to leave their teacher to her obvious death.

“You’ll never survive both of them alone, ma’am,” Pyrrha said.

“Perhaps, but the six of you will survive.”  Lucatiel’s expression was grim and brooked no argument.  “Now go or I’ll kill you myself.”  Lucatiel’s students backed down, not doubting the truth behind her threat.  Dejectedly, Jaune signaled the school to send a bullhead to the rendezvous point, and the students began to sprint to the location where they had first entered the forest.  Lucatiel gripped her sword tightly as the two mountainous Behemoths looked down at her and their spikes prepared to fire splinters of bone at their prey.  Lucatiel thought back to the fight against the Smelter Demon, all those years ago in the Iron Keep.  Since then, Lucatiel had become so much stronger and faster.

Lucatiel almost felt sorry for the Behemoths and smiled.  For the first time in millennia, she was alone again, fighting a pair of enormous monsters.  Finally, she had an opportunity to have some fun.

* * *

“All of you, get out of here!  Stop whatever Torchwick is doing, I’ll be fine!”

Azrael should have known better than to drop his guard.  Right after he and Blake decided they would spy on Roman Torchwick’s operation and stop whatever he was planning, Yang, Ruby, and Weiss (along with that damn dog of theirs) dropped into the underground city through the large crater the Pontiff’s beast had left.  Realizing he could not convince them otherwise, Azrael allowed them to come with.  As they were leaving, however, something emerged from the nearby chasms—a creature Azrael had vivid memories of fighting in the caverns underneath Drangleic.

The being was humanoid in shape, but it was far larger than even Vengarl, standing ten feet tall, and enormous white wings sprouted from its back.  It had two sets of arms and all four limbs had strange purple energy emanating from it in the shape of blades.  As it approached them, a circle of darkness opened above its head and a small orb fired out from it.  Azrael shoved Blake out of the way and yelled to Team RWBY to get away.

The Darklurker was in Remnant.

As the girls sped off to deal with the criminal, Azrael slung his shield over his back and shifted his weight, activating his pyromancy flame in one hand while twisting his other arm around the Black Knight Halberd, allowing him to use both simultaneously while still retaining his agility.  Azrael focused himself, summoning up several flame swathes around the creature and dodging the incoming sword swings.  The balls of flame ignited, causing an enormous explosion around the abomination.  As the smoke cleared, however, the Darklurker was barely phased.  _Looks like I’m not the only one who’s been training_ , thought Azrael with a grimace.  Maneuvering himself to the side of the Darklurker, Azrael deactivated his flame and grasped his halberd with both hands, plunging it as hard as he could into the monster’s flank.  Black blood spurted out from the wound, burning the ground where it landed, but the abomination showed no other reaction to the strike.

Meanwhile, Ruby and her team had reached Torchwick and his White Fang cronies.  They were packing a number of crates into a train car while Torchwick shouted orders at a White Fang platypus Faunus.  Seeing that they had not been detected, Blake and Weiss snuck in closer, leaving their much less subtle teammates back to survey the situation.  Blake took out her scroll and snapped several pictures of the crates, then showed them to Weiss, who went pale.

Growing up in Jacques Schnee’s house, Weiss had picked up a lot of things about her father’s business.  Things like the use of underpaid (and possibly, Weiss had suspected, unpaid) Faunus labor, tension between the Atlas military and the SDC, personal resentment between Jacques and General Ironwood…and what crates of mining explosives look like.

Too close to the White Fang to speak, Blake and Weiss communicated via their scrolls.

_Blake, we need to stop this train somehow.  Those crates are filled with explosives._

_Are you sure?_   At this, Weiss shot Blake a look that removed any doubt from the Faunus girl’s mind.  As the last of the crates were packed onto the train car, the girls decided it was time to take action.  They sent a single word— _NOW—_ to Yang’s and Ruby’s scrolls, then jumped out from their hiding spot just as the train began to pull out of the subway station.  Rather than fight the Fang members left behind, Weiss simply used some Ice Dust with her glyphs and froze the terrorists in place as Team RWBY (and Zwei, whose mouth Ruby had been covering for the past 20 minutes) jumped onto the last train car.  In the distance, they heard a horrible scream ring out, but none of the girls could tell whether it was Azrael or that…thing he had been fighting.

The girls fought their way through the first several cars with very little effort, easily taking out the few White Fang guards in each section.  After clearing out the fifth car, there was a rumble, followed shortly afterward by an explosion in the distance.  Unable to see what had happened, the team split up again, with Weiss and Blake going up top.  Looking back, they saw that one of the train cars had been detached and had exploded, breaching the subway tunnel and letting Grimm in.  Seconds later, the next car did the same, and Beowolves, Ursai, and even Deathstalkers began flowing in through the breach by the dozens.  Realizing what Torchwick planned, Blake shouted down to Yang and Ruby.  “Hurry!  They’re luring thousands of Grimm to Beacon!”  With teams SSSN, JNPR, and half of CFVY out on missions with Vengarl and Lucatiel, most of the school’s most talented Huntsmen- and Huntresses-in-training were away, leaving only a few teachers and students to stand against the horde bearing down on them.  Weiss tried to get a message to Professor Goodwitch, but something was interfering with the signal.  As Yang and Ruby fought their way through the train cars, several Atlas Paladins piloted by White Fang members threw themselves on top of the train to stop Weiss and Blake.  Clearly Roman had stolen more than just the six from that night on the freeway.

Having fought them before, the monochromatic pair easily dispatched all four mechs, leaving the pilots as prey for the Grimm rushing behind them as their robots fell off the side of the train.  Blake winced, unhappy with the men’s deaths, but thought about how Azrael had killed the mech pilots last time: these men were trying to kill them and it was either them or her and her friends.  While this rationalized it for Blake, the girl still wasn’t happy about the death she and Weiss were leaving in their wake.

After three more cars had detached and exploded, Yang and Ruby cleared out the car beneath them, and the four girls met up, only three cars away from the front.  They were running out of time, and they all knew it.  Ruby came up with a plan, albeit a simple one.  “Alright, you three keep going through the cars, I’ll go up top and over and see if I can stop the train somehow.”  Her teammates nodded, and Weiss, Blake, and Yang walked into the next car, meeting the pink and brown haired girl who had helped Roman escape their last encounter.

“You go on ahead.  This one’s mine.” Yang said.  She was eager to wipe the smug smile off of the girl’s face.

In the next car, there stood a man nearly as tall as Azrael, holding an enormous chainsaw.  Weiss nodded to Blake, who simply sped right past him as Weiss propelled herself forward with a glyph.

Finally, Blake made it to the front, and she could her Ruby and Zwei’s footsteps above her head.  At the front of the train stood Torchwick, without any guards, twirling his cane.  “We really should stop meeting like this, you know.  People are gonna talk.”  Blake ignored him and leapt forward, attacking him with almost blinding rage as she thought about how men like him and her mentor Adam had corrupted the once-peaceful White Fang into nothing more than an army of thugs.  In under a minute, Torchwick lay unconscious at her feet and she had hogtied him with some spare rope she found nearby.

Two cars back, Yang was growing frustrated.  This little girl had been able to dodge every single attack of hers and never stopped smiling that stupid smile while they fought.  Yang could keep this up all day, but they had a deadline, and this girl seemed completely untouchable.  She was just too fast.  Growling with frustration, Yang put everything she had into one last punch, but the little girl easily dodged it and, seeing her opening, delivered a swift kick to Yang’s abdomen and slammed her to the ground.  Ignoring the unexpected sound of Grimm dying in droves behind the train, Neo pulled the hidden blade from her umbrella and was about to plunge it into Yang’s heart when several things happened.

First, the last train car behind them detached itself and exploded, bringing in the final influx of Grimm.  Immediately after that, something big launched itself through the back window, leaving a vaguely humanoid crater in the car.  At the same time, a woman wearing strange red robes and a large Grimm mask attacked Neo, pushing her away from Yang.  As the large man behind Neo rose to his feet, the red woman—whom Neo instantly recognized as Raven Branwen—placed a hand on the enormous sword at her hip—a handle embedded in an oversized sheath that contained dozens of Dust blades, capable of cutting through the fabric of reality itself.  The woman drew a red blade from the scabbard and levelled it at the new challenger.

Choosing between running back into the hoard of rampaging Grimm and staying near the two clearly dangerous fighters was a tougher choice for Neo than one might expect.

Eventually, she opted for the former, jumping out of the back of the car, determined to return to Cinder alive for Phase 3 of their plan.  Meanwhile, Azrael had moved over to Yang’s unconscious form, guarding it from the strange, menacing woman.  Azrael noted that she bore a striking resemblance to Yuria of Londor—not exactly a positive association, as far as the Undead was concerned.

“Leave now, I will not let you come near her.”  The woman cocked her head, almost intrigued.  Something wasn’t right here.  Azrael slowly put his halberd away and moved his right hand to the Chaos Blade’s hilt, prepared for the worst.

With blinding speed, the woman charged at Azrael, then flicked her sword at him, almost lazily—as if she fully expected such a weak strike to cut him clean in half.  Unfortunately for her, Azrael was ready.  With just as much speed, he brought the Chaos Blade up, perfectly blocking the strike.  He could see bright eyes with blood red pupils underneath the mask, and as their swords crossed, Azrael took great pleasure in watching them widen in shock, almost approaching fear—ignoring the biting pain in his arm as the Chaos Blade took its tithe of flesh from its wielder.  Before Azrael could follow up with a slash, the woman broke off from him, slashing backwards.  A spherical red anomaly appeared behind her, and the woman disappeared into it.  At a loss for words, Azrael quickly roused Yang, using Warmth to heal her broken ribs and bruises form her fight with the smaller girl.  Azrael pulled a strange bottle from inside his armor and handed it to Yang.  “Here, drink this.”  Yang complied, and instantly felt as though she had been resting for three days.  Cracking her neck, she got up and followed Azrael.

The pair of them moved to the next car, where Weiss stood over the chainsaw wielder, who had been frozen in place, with only enough movement to breathe.  Azrael nodded to Weiss, impressed.  “Let’s move on.”

At that moment, a panicked yelp came from the next car, where Ruby and Blake were frantically trying to stop the train.  Torchwick had removed both the automatic and emergency brakes, and they were careening towards the end of the tunnel.  Based on the distance they had travelled already, they were likely right underneath Vale.

But their location was immaterial.  The train was careening towards a solid concrete wall.  If they didn’t figure out how to slow down, they would all die.

Thinking quickly, Azrael did something he thought he would never have to do again: he prayed.  Azrael did not pray to the Lords, not to the Abyss, nor even to Caitha or the other gods of Drangleic.  Azrael prayed to the only deity he knew for sure would listen: Velka, the Goddess of Sin, and his personal patron.

Azrael did not know how to perform the Tranquil Walk of Peace, but in that moment, it worked.  The train jolted, throwing everybody except Azrael to the floor, and began slowing down.  They would not be able to avoid the collision, but that was okay.  It would neither kill them nor breach the city.  As they neared the wall, Azrael yelled out for his students to brace themselves.  As they hit the wall, they were still travelling at close to 40 miles per hour, but all four students’ Auras held out, preventing any injury.

Now all they had to do was fight the 10,000 Grimm bearing down on them.


	16. Backs Against the Wall

Team JNPR, Cardin, and Velvet were all silent.  All six students sat on the bullhead as it made its way back to Beacon, sans Lucatiel, and nobody wanted to break the silence.  Lucatiel might have ordered them to leave, but most of the students felt guilty about it anyway.

Cardin was the only one not thinking about their teacher, but his mind was no less troubled.  Since he and Lucatiel had spoken, all he could think about was what she had said—or rather, screamed—to him.  _“Have you ever been spit on by your spouse?  What about your own mother, Winchester?”_   The tears in Lucatiel’s eyes at the time told Cardin that she was speaking from personal experience.  And she had been right; in most respects, he had lived a relatively charmed life so far.  His father had paid his son’s way into everything, from the best toys as a little boy, to entrance into the best schools (that he would not have earned on his own), and even the best tutors in Remnant when Cardin had begun lagging behind his classmates.  But Lucatiel didn’t know everything about him.

Cardin had always hated the man, who was always far too busy with work to ever spend time with his own son.  Memories of dozens of lonely holidays spent alone, save for his mother.  After she had died during a White Fang protest that turned into a riot—before Cardin had even turned 13—Henry Winchester became even more absorbed in his work, only taking time at home to drink and beat Cardin, often in that order.  Cardin still missed his mother; Joan Winchester was the best thing in his life, and those animals took that from him.  He missed spending the holidays with her, just the two of them cooking a roast, or putting up some homemade decorations, or watching old movies together.  Cardin felt tears form in his eyes as he thought back on his mother.  Then his thoughts returned to what Lucatiel had said.

“ _How can you possibly claim to know anything at all about what Velvet or any other Faunus has gone through in their life?”_   This was the entire reason Cardin was so conflicted.  Yes, he had felt loss.  Yes, he had felt pain.  A year after Joan’s death, her son had found himself standing on the edge of a highway overpass, trying desperately to force his hands to release their grip on the fence—he had been willing to do anything to see his mom again.  But now, sitting on a bullhead, having left behind one of the only people whose skill he respected, Cardin finally understood.  Velvet hadn’t killed his mother.  Neither had Jaune.

Joan Winchester was dead.  She would always be dead.  And hurting the people around him wasn’t going to change that.  Cardin’s heart broke as he thought back on all the terrible things he had done and said to his fellow students.  He realized that if there was an afterlife, his mother was there, looking down on him with disgust.

Team JNPR and Velvet were still silent, but now all of them were staring at Cardin as he began sobbing, his head in his hands.  Their shame at leaving Lucatiel behind forgotten, the students couldn’t stop themselves from watching as the bully cried to himself in front of them.  After several minutes, Velvet got out of her seat and moved next to Cardin, placing her right arm around his shoulders.  Cardin attempted to shake her off, but the brown-haired rabbit Faunus was persistent.  Eventually Cardin stopped struggling and accepted Velvet’s embrace.  After another minute, he also stopped crying.

Inspired by Velvet’s boldness—and not escaping the notice of a suddenly ecstatic Nora—Pyrrha grabbed Jaune’s hand and whispered to him.  “We need to talk when we get back…alone.”  As she spoke, the sun began to rise to the east, shining upon the six weary students.

* * *

Glynda Goodwitch was not a morning person.  Especially when “morning” included being awoken at 4 a. m. by some sort of crash underneath the streets of Beacon.  It had come from the courtyard in the center of the city plaza, and the beleaguered professor was almost certain that she knew where it had come from.  Grumbling as she quickly changed from her nightgown into her Huntress gear, Glynda grabbed a bullhead and flew it down into the city, ready to fend off an attack from the defunct tunnel to Mountain Glenn.

However, when Glynda landed, she found no large hole in the courtyard, only a small opening, surrounded by a spiderweb of cracks—as if the train that she was sure had broken through the ground had been slowed considerably.  The opening, thankfully, was occupied by the nearly destroyed front car of the train.  Wedged between two jagged plates of metal—and barely protected by his Aura—was an unconscious Roman Torchwick, already tied and gagged.  Glynda raised an eyebrow as she dragged him out of the wreckage and tried to look into the collapsed tunnel.   She could hear the sound of a frantic battle going on, but as soon as she started moving the train car out of the way, she heard a voice shout at her. “ **NO!** We’ll hold the line as best we can, but the creatures must not make it into the city!”  The tall blonde immediately recognized Azrael’s voice.  That explained why they had lost contact with the group’s scrolls the night before.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Can you seal the opening without removing the train car?”

“No, I need an open space to work with.”

A loud squeal emanated from the opening, and Glynda recognized the death snarl of a Beowulf Alpha.  “Damn it all!  See if you can create a barrier around the car then.”

“Of course.  Are the girls with you?”  More squeals; apparently, the Grimm were having trouble dealing with hurting either Team RWBY or Azrael himself.

“Yes.  Yang took a bit of a beating earlier, but I fixed her up.  Now close the god damn hole.”

Not bothering to respond to Azrael’s rudeness, Glynda obeyed immediately.  She had been in enough battles to recognize a chain of command, and Azrael had clearly been in similar situations before.  She waved her wand and hundreds of bricks flew off of nearby buildings before coalescing in a hemisphere around the train car, sealing the Grimm in the tunnel off from the city—along with Azrael and Team RWBY.

* * *

On the other side of the train car, Azrael was far from composed.  Having returned the Chaos Blade to its sheath, the large Undead warrior had met the charging hoard of monsters with a charge of his own, running a Deathstalker through with his halberd as Team RWBY followed suit.  Yanking his weapon from the dissolving scorpion, Azrael grabbed the halberd with both hands and began to twirl it like a quarterstaff, slicing through Grimm with the bladed half and bashing their skulls with the butt of the weapon.  Dozens and dozens of Grimm fell around him as he became a whirling dervish of death, but it wasn’t enough.  For every one Azrael killed, six more seemed to take their place.  Thankfully, he wasn’t alone, and his four students killed the creatures almost as quickly as their teacher.  Weiss used her glyphs to stop scores of Grimm in their tracks, allowing Blake and Ruby to carve through them while Yang spewed a constant stream of explosive rounds from her shotgun gauntlets, the Ember Celica, eviscerating any Grimm that came close to the explosions.  Azrael took a little time between each of his kills to observe Ruby and Blake’s weapons in action, something he had not yet had the chance to do.

Blake’s katana—the Gambol Shroud—was much more versatile than it first appeared, as the sheath itself was sharpened, allowing her to essentially use two swords for the price of one.  Not only that, but the sword itself could transform into an automatic pistol as well as a sort of grappling hook that allowed Blake to move around faster than either Yang or Weiss, although Ruby’s incredible speed was still superior.  Blake also proved an incredibly hard target for the Grimm to hit, thanks to her Semblance—she was able to make illusory copies of herself, gaining momentary invisibility while these shadow clones served as a distraction.  Weiss had brought a significant amount of Dust and split it with Blake; the different types allowed her copies to explode with different effects, setting Grimm on fire, freezing them, or simply throwing them hundreds of feet back.  Blake used the beasts’ lack of intelligence to her advantage, setting off explosions in the midst of large groups of Grimm clumped together.

Azrael did not bother watching Weiss.  He had designed her weapon himself, and he had trained her—he was certain that she knew what she was doing, and the occasional wall of explosions coming from glyphs nearby confirmed Azrael’s suspicions.  Instead, he focused on Ruby’s weapon and Semblance, and what a weapon it was.

Ruby’s weapon Crescent Rose was a powerful, long-range rifle that transformed into an absurdly large and absurdly sharp scythe.  The little girl used the weapon with a practiced ease that surprised Azrael.  This was not just a result of his training in class.  This girl knew her weapon intimately—the teacher realized that she, like many students, had likely designed and her weapon herself.  Ruby also pushed her Semblance of extreme speed to its limit, moving around the battle like a flash of red death.  Azrael doubted any of the girl’s teammates could follow her, even though he had no trouble.  Azrael had trained his sense and reflexes the hard way: dodging (and more often, failing to dodge) spear-sized arrows traveling at several times the speed of sound while he climbed the ramparts of Anor Londo more than a dozen millennia earlier.

All in all, Team RWBY was a force to be reckoned with.

After half an hour, Azrael had heard Glynda at the top of the tunnel where the train had derailed itself.  Once she sealed the five warriors off, Azrael returned to the fray as the Grimm suddenly surged, seemingly emboldened by his absence.  Perhaps the beasts thought that they would be able to take down one of the girls while their mentor had disappeared.  Azrael quickly disabused them of that notion.

After twenty more minutes, most of Azrael’s students had started to show some fatigue.  Ruby, Weiss, and Blake had started to grow sluggish, the heavy use of their Semblance sapping their energy.  Azrael commanded them to fall back, and the girls retreated back to the wreckage of the train under Yang’s cover fire.  As the girls rested, Azrael kicked himself into high gear, murdering hundreds of Grimm as he singlehandedly stemmed the tide of monsters.  After another twenty minutes of fighting on his own, albeit with a lot of help from Yang’s cover fire, the tide of Grimm slowed and finally stopped.  Azrael jerked his halberd from the skull of the last Ursa, eliciting a sickening crunch as bone gave way under the blade, and walked back to his students.

“Great job, all of you.  Is anybody’s scroll working?”  All four girls shook their heads.  Azrael sighed before continuing.  “Then I guess we will be getting out of this tunnel the old fashioned way.”

Blake spoke up.  “And what does that mean?  There’s a train in the way, and even if there wasn’t, Goodwitch put up a barrier to keep the Grimm from breaking through if we fail.”

“Simple: we smash the barrier.”  Incredulous looks greeted Azrael’s declaration.  Ignoring them, Azrael placed his halberd on his back and pulled a pair of strange looking gloves from underneath his shield, also on his back.  “These things have been digging into my back for hours.”

Yang stared at the gloves, unsure what to make of them.  They appeared to be made of bone, but the individual pieces were much too thick to come from a human, even one of Azrael’s size.  Not only that, but the fingers curved inward in a sickening fashion, as if they weren’t fingers, but rather, talons of some huge beast.  “What is that, Azrael?”

“These are called the Bone Fists of Eleum Loyce, and they will get us out of here.  First, however, we will need to get this train out of here.  Everybody, back up.”  Azrael’s left hand erupted in flame, but unlike his usual pyromancy flame, this fire fed on his inner Dark.  The normally gentle flames leapt up his wrist and quickly engulfed Azrael’s entire left arm, making it seem like his limb was made from lava to the gawking students.  Azrael coughed pointedly and Team RWBY quickly backed up to fifty feet away as a coil of magma lazily unfurled itself from Azrael’s hand.  The Undead pyromancer grasped the whip tightly and brought it down on the closer of the two destroyed train cars, easily bisecting it.  After several swings the car was in pieces and Azrael retracted the whip.  In its place he summoned a massive fireball—the Forbidden Sun, a monstrously powerful pyromancy he had learned from a demon named Navlaan—and hurled it at the remains of the first train car, melting the entire thing in a matter of seconds.  The molten steel flowed around Azrael’s feet, but his armor was not even singed by it.  He summoned a second Forbidden Sun and hurled it at the lead car, which was stuck inside the angled wall, preventing both Azrael and the Grimm from leaving.

Once both cars had been annihilated, Azrael recalled the pyromancy flame and his arm returned to normal, no worse for wear.  Beckoning his students forward as the train cars’ molten steel cooled far more rapidly than it should have, Azrael slowly put his Bone Fists on.  “Now then, it may take some time, but we’re almost home free, and then you can all go to your dorm to sleep.”  Lining up his fist, Azrael began punching Glynda’s Dust-infused barrier as hard as he could.  The first impact was deafeningly loud, and reverberated around the tunnel.  After several more punches, a small crack appeared and began to widen under Azrael’s methodical assault.

Finally, fifteen minutes later, Azrael broke through, destroying the barrier.  He and his students stepped through into the orange light of dawn, nearly walking right into a stunned Glynda Goodwitch.  Exhausted, the girls rode back in the Bullhead with the stern professor, while Azrael stayed behind, preparing to create a much stronger barrier.  After Team RWBY and Goodwitch left, and Azrael had ensured there was nobody around to witness his action, Azrael brought his right hand up to the small breach.  The hand began to glow a deep purple that soon turned pitch black as Azrael used the power of the Dark Hand, a legendary technique of the Darkwraiths that he had learned in New Londo by observing them as they fought him, to seal the breach permanently.  Azrael spent extra time ensuring that the entire area was protected, as darkness flowed from his hand and coated the underside of the ground, filling the entire tunnel with an indestructible barrier made from pure Dark.

Looking around once more, Azrael manipulated the barrier’s appearance to match the stonework of the rest of the courtyard, before turning and leaving for Beacon Tower.  Unnoticed by him, however, was a small woman hiding in a nearby alley, watching and waiting, before fading into the shadows, her silver eyes the last part of her to disappear.


	17. Lifedrain

Something was following Azrael.

The large Undead didn’t hear footsteps, nor did he catch sight of anyone in the alleyways of Vale, but he knew he was being followed, and the fact that he knew he had a shadow disturbed him more than the actual shadow.  Azrael’s Darksign was capable of sensing Aura from the people of Remnant, but only within about ten meters, and only with a conscious effort from him.  But Azrael could sense this stalker as clearly as if they were standing two feet in front of him.  This person had Dark within them, and that realization nearly made Azrael stop short.

The Undead ducked into an abandoned warehouse and quickly disrobed, throwing off the yellow rags and heavy plate armor he normally wore, leaving him in his leather hauberk and the tough denim jeans he had received as a “welcoming gift” from Peter Port when he began teaching at Beacon.  Azrael was put off by the man at first, but soon warmed up to the bombastic storyteller.  The professor’s Aura was uncannily similar in nature to an old friend Azrael had lost in Lordran—Siegmeyer of Catarina.

Azrael broke himself from his reverie; there were more important things to worry about at the moment than his colleague.  Having hidden his armor and weapons to his satisfaction, Azrael dashed out of the warehouse and continued walking down the alley with his eyes closed, trying to find whoever was hunting him.

The Undead frowned.  Whoever or whatever was tracking him had somehow managed to muffle their Dark enough to foil Azrael’s attempts to track them.  It felt as though their Dark was somehow incomplete and hazy.

Most disturbing of all was that Azrael had not sensed any Dark in Remnant other than himself, Vengarl, Lucatiel, and the Pontiff’s manbeast that he and Blake had slain.  Only two possibilities existed: either this creature had arrived in Remnant from his world before Azrael had and had simply lain low for more than ten years, or the curse of the Darksign had somehow come to Remnant.  After five minutes of winding his way through alley after alley while he played cat and mouse with his stalker, a horrifying thought occurred to Azrael: this…thing wasn’t masking anything.  It hadn’t followed him or his comrades through their respective arrivals to Remnant, nor had the Darksign cursed this world.

Hiding behind a dumpster, Azrael shut out all five of his senses and focused his Darksign on the creature.  After several seconds, he found what he was looking for.  He still didn’t know where it was, but the thing that was following him was not a being of Dark.  It was native to Remnant.  What’s more, it had an Aura.

Azrael was being stalked by a Hunter whose entire being had been subdued by the Dark, and it was a Dark that Azrael recognized.

* * *

As Team JNPR’s Bullhead drew near the city of Vale, Lie Ren’s head snapped to attention.  While most of the huntsman- and huntresses-in-training either ignored him or didn’t notice, Nora looked at her long-time friend with concern.  Unlike her peers, Nora had seen Ren use his Semblance before, and the look on his face told Nora that Ren was using it now.  Ren’s Semblance allowed him to sense when creatures of Darkness like the Grimm were nearby.

If his Semblance was active this close to the city, then something horrible was happening—or had already.  Nora banged on the cockpit door and yelled at the pilot to drop them off in town.  Her fellow students looked at her, confused, while Ren nodded appreciatively, as the pilot changed course, not willing to risk a broken leg from the overzealous hammer maiden.

Team JNPR, Cardin, and Velvet all readied themselves for a fight as the Bullhead neared the town’s shopping center.

* * *

 _Damn it, why now?_ Azrael thought as he saw the Bullhead descend onto a nearby rooftop.  _What could Ozpin want from me at this hour that was too important for a Scroll message?_

Azrael blanche, his skin going an even paler shade of blue, when Nora and Ren jumped off the rooftop.  He immediately walked up to the young ginger and almost screamed, “What are you doing here?”

Nora didn’t flinch.  “Ren felt something strange happening, so we’re here to help!” she nearly yelled, eager to fight Grimm alongside her teacher.

“Why is Lucatiel not with you?”

Nora’s smile vanished, replaced with an expression Azrael couldn’t quite puzzle out.  In the back of his mind, he made sure his Darksign was keeping an eye on the Huntress as Nora tried to explain what had happened, her voice speeding up as she went along.  When she finished telling Azrael about how Lucatiel had forced them to leave her behind, the Undead began chuckling to himself.  Nora’s eyes widened in shock before she started screaming at Azrael, tears welling up.  “HOW CAN YOU BE LAUGHING?”  The girl collapsed into Azrael, her head resting on his abdomen as she bawled and pounded her fist into his chest, and her voice fell to a whisper.  “We failed her.”

Azrael stopped and hoisted Nora back on her own feet.  Looking directly at her, he placed a hand on the distraught girl’s shoulder.  “Nora, you performed admirably.  Trust me, I’ve known Lucatiel far longer than you’ve been alive.  She will be fine.”  Looking around, Azrael noticed a crowd had gathered around him and the students, and his Darksign flared up.  He looked to the young fighters.  “I hate to do this, but all of you need to leave. Now.”  His last word was punctuated by flames sprouting in his left hand as he drew the only weapon he had on him, his bandit knife.  Azrael saw Cardin open his mouth and shut him down immediately.  “Trust me, you are in more danger at this very moment than you have ever been in your entire life.”  Azrael turned to the gathered crowd.  “That goes for all of you.  Return to your homes.  This is official Huntsman business.”  The creature was here, in this crowd.  Azrael just hoped that he would be able to locate him or her before they made their move.

Slowly, the crowd began to disperse as Azrael searched desperately for the Dark Hunter, looking from person to person.  A married couple, dressed for a nice dinner.  _Not them_.  A teenage boy, wearing a raggedy t-shirt and shorts.  _No._   A thin, extremely pale woman wearing a white, hooded robe. _Nope._   A tall man with a pistol, concealed poorly. _Not him ei-_ Azrael’s head snapped back to the hooded woman, who had not moved an inch since Team JNPR had arrived.  He recognized her face, and the truth became clear.

“Nora, you and your team need to leave.  Now.” Azrael snarled, his entire left arm becoming wreathed in flames.  Azrael flicked his arm towards Nora and charged at the stranger.  As the young woman barely dodged the fireball that her teacher had thrown at her, Azrael leapt towards the albino woman who wore Ruby’s face.

* * *

Ozpin couldn’t believe what he was seeing.  Not only was Summer Rose alive, but she was currently fighting Azrael in the streets of Vale.

But something wasn’t right about Ozpin’s former student.  She didn’t even move an inch until Azrael leapt at her.

 _Thank Oum he had the sense to separate Ms. Valkyrie from the fight._   It was an accurate observation.  Azrael’s fireball had forced Nora to dodge away from him, allowing Azrael to run straight toward Summer without worrying about his students.  The teacher dove right into the fight, barely dodging a curved blade attached to a long chain that shot out from beneath Summer’s robes.  Azrael brought his knife up and began slashing at Summer, and the fight began in earnest.

Ozpin had heard about Azrael’s unnatural fighting prowess secondhand from Glynda, but he had never actually seen him fight.  From what he was seeing now, his assistant had woefully undersold Azrael’s skills.   Both he and Summer moved so fast that the security camera’s framerate had trouble keeping up with their movements.  Summer and Azrael were a blur to Ozpin as they dodged and slashed at each other.  To the untrained eye, it would seem that the two fighters were being completely reckless, but Ozpin had been a Huntsman for a long, long time, and he recognized that this was no bar room brawl.  The unfathomable speed and skill of Azrael and Summer Rose had turned this fight into a mental struggle, with both warriors slashing, dodging, feinting, counter-feinting and parrying in a frenzied dance of violence.  Every single move either fighter made was carefully calculated to try and tilt the scales in their favor, and Ozpin soon realized it was working.  Azrael was winning—but unfortunately, it didn’t appear that way to Azrael’s students, who had not been able to will their legs into motion, opting instead to stare slack-jawed at the melee.  Then, finally, one of the students started to move—right into the fight.

* * *

Thinking that Azrael was about to lose, Jaune broke free from his trance and leapt into action, charging at Summer with his sword raised aloft, ready to defend his teacher.  Azrael’s eye widened as his student joined the fray, just as this warrior’s weapon came flying at his neck.  Distracted by Jaune’s untimely heroism, Azrael mistimed his dodge and the blade sliced into his neck, spraying blood out from the wound.  While Azrael himself was unfazed by the damage, Jaune froze up as the crimson liquid sprayed towards him, some of it even going inside his mouth.  Jaune collapsed to the ground and began to scream and vomit simultaneously as the Undead blood permanently damaged his taste buds.

Pyrrha leapt to Jaune’s aid, standing between him and Summer, whose hood had come off.  As Pyrrha finally got a good look at the attacker, she felt the urge to join her leader on the ground.  _It can’t be…_

The assailant’s face was identical to their friend Ruby, right down to the adorable smile that constantly decorated the young scythe-wielder’s visage, thrown into stark relief by the rest of the creature’s awful appearance. While its face was exactly the same as Ruby’s, the monster before them was several inches taller than the young girl.  The woman’s short, straight hair was colored a black so deep that it seemed to suck the light from around her head, and her skin was colored a dull almost plastic white.  But even more disturbing were its eyes.

Pyrrha knew that Ruby had silver eyes—it was an eye color she had never seen before meeting Ruby, nor since, and she had taken note of it.  But this mockery of Pyrrha’s friend, that had actually managed to wound Azrael, did not.  Its eyes were disgusting: the pupils were a horrifying white, while the sclera was blood-red and both the irises and the veins of its eyes were the same horrible black of her hair.  The black veins spread out from her eyes and down her neck, and Pyrrha noticed that her hands were also covered in the spindly black lines.

Most disconcertingly, Pyrrha could feel waves of evil radiating from the monster, but it was not the Darkness of the Grimm.  Those beasts paled in comparison to the raw monstrosity of this being.  It was an abomination.

Pyrrha took all of this in in an instant, and something snapped inside her.  She screamed at the top of her lungs, stumbling backwards over Jaune.  Righting herself immediately, she grabbed her oblivious leader and dragged him away from the fight as Azrael began to attack again.  Thankfully, her scream knocked the other students out of their stupor, and the six of them sprinted inside the nearby building and made for the roof where their Bullhead was still parked.  In under a minute, Team JNPR, Cardin, and Velvet were back on board and the pilot had taken off, heading in a straight line directly for Beacon.

* * *

Ruby woke with a start.  She could have sworn she had heard a scream.  Looking around her room, she saw Yang and Blake dead asleep in their bunk beds, completely exhausted from their mission.  Looking down beneath her bunkbed, she saw that Weiss was awake, and the heiress motioned to their dresser.  The two girls quietly dressed in their Huntress outfits, in silent agreement that they would have to investigate the scream that had woken them.

After they had left their dorm, Ruby and Weiss used their respective Semblances to propel themselves to the cliff that overlooked the city as fast as they could.  Rather than bother with convincing somebody to pilot a Bullhead for them, the partners simply leapt off the cliff, again using their Semblances to land safely in the town square.  Looking around and listening hard for any sign of someone in distress, they noticed a Bullhead flying at top speed towards Beacon.  Weiss and Ruby looked at each other quizzically before they heard a loud clanging noise coming from the shopping district.  Without a word, the girls ran towards the sound, careful not to collide with the large crowd of people fleeing from it. As they neared the shopping district, the clanging grew louder, and new noises joined in—shuffling footsteps, rattling chains, and loud whooshes that almost sounded like a fire being ignited.

As they turned the final corner, Weiss and Ruby were met with a terrifying sight—Azrael was locked in combat with a woman.  Their teacher was not wearing his helmet or most of his armor, and his shield, halberd, and katana were nowhere to be seen.  Instead, Azrael’s left arm was enveloped in roiling flames with a long whip extending out from his hand while he held a large knife in his right hand.  As they ran toward their teacher, Weiss and Ruby got a better look at Azrael’s assailant—an albino woman wearing a white cape.  Weiss looked at her partner, who had stopped cold.  “Ruby, come on, we have to help him!”

Ruby couldn’t move.  It wasn’t possible—it couldn’t be possible!  She barely managed to squeak out a single word.

“Mom?”

Azrael’s head snapped around at the word and his eyes went wide, understanding flowing through him.  But before he could yell at his students to run, his adversary had seized upon his lapse in concentration, and Azrael fell to his knees, staggered by the surprise attack.  He looked down at the blade buried in his chest and screamed, but not in pain, or fear, or even rage.  Azrael screamed in frustration, as he realized that he could not possibly kill this woman now.  But then, as the pain in his chest pulsed and throbbed, an idea formed in his head.

Weiss and Ruby, like Team JNPR, Cardin, and Velvet before them, found themselves stuck in place, unable to will their bodies into motion.  As they stood there, the girls noticed Summer’s disgusting eyes and veins, and they both attempted to recoil from the scene to no avail.

Azrael did not attempt to remove the blade.  Instead, he stood up to his full height and hunched his shoulders, drawing the weapon further inside his body.  He felt the point of the blade erupt out of his back as Summer was lurched forward, hand still firmly grasping her weapon.  He hunched his shoulders again and pulled her in again.  She wouldn’t let go of her blade but she couldn’t pull it back out.  Focused as she was on her predicament, Summer didn’t notice Azrael drop his knife.  Azrael hunched his shoulders and squeezed again, sucking Summer’s hand out through the hole in his back and pinning her entire forearm inside his torso.

Weiss and Ruby looked on in horror as their teacher gored himself repeatedly.  His blood sprayed everywhere with each movement, but after he stopped, no more blood escaped him.  As the two partners felt the bile rise in their throats, they saw Azrael’s left arm extinguish itself.  As the flames died, he raised his hand to Summer’s neck and it looked like he had begun to strangle her.  But what grabbed Weiss’s and Ruby’s attentions was Azrael’s right arm.

After he had dropped his knife, a strange purplish-black substance started to cover his arm, as if it was emanating from the pores of his skin.  As he raised his right hand to Summer’s face, the hand started to glow a sickly white.  For the first time, Summer spoke—or rather, shrieked—as the black ooze flowing through her veins was drawn toward Azrael’s hand.  Once Summer’s entire face was pitch black from the concentrated Dark under the skin, the light from Azrael’s hand began to force it out of her body, sucking it into his arm.  Streams of the viscous liquid broke Summer’s skin and flowed into Azrael, and both their bodies began to shudder and seize—Summer’s in pain, and Azrael’s in what looked like euphoria.

Eventually, all of the ooze had been extracted, and Summer’s agonized screeches fell silent.  Azrael released her and the woman crumpled to the ground in a heap.  Almost immediately, Azrael fell backwards as well, landing flat on his back as he attempted to calm the storm raging within himself.  He had not used the Lifedrain in such a long time that he had almost forgotten why the Four Kings had fallen so easily to their addiction.

Ruby and Weiss sprinted towards the pair, so confused and distraught that neither one remembered to use their semblance to get over to them faster.  Ruby dove to her knees next to Summer, cradling her mother’s head in her lap and crying—whether from joy or sorrow, Ruby had no idea.  Weiss knelt next to her longtime mentor, terrified to look at the wound in his chest.  Azrael looked up at his favorite student and smiled weakly.  He spoke in a near whisper, using his pet name for Weiss that he had not used since she was eleven years old.

“Don’t worry, little Snowflake.  This looks a lot worse than it is.”

“But, Azrael-”

“Shush.  Don’t you notice that I haven’t been bleeding?”

Weiss hesitated before looking at the fist-sized hole in Azrael’s chest and saw that he was speaking the truth.  “But—how?”

“Well, since it’s just the three of us and the unconscious woman, I suppose we can talk freely.  You know that I am Undead.” Weiss nodded, her expression changing from a mix of fear and sadness to one of confused curiosity.  “Well, we Undead don’t actually need what you would consider to be necessities to survive.  Haven’t you wondered why you’ve never once seen me eat in the cafeteria?” Azrael waved Weiss off of him and stood up.  “I don’t need to eat, or drink, or sleep, or even breathe.  My body remains alive because the Darksign makes it remain alive.”  Weiss fell to the ground in shock, and Azrael offered his hand to help her up.  “I have died thousands upon thousands of times, Weiss.  Maybe even a few million times.  But I will not die today.”  Azrael looked over at Ruby, still sobbing over seeing her mother die a second time.  Azrael cleared his throat and his voice rose much louder, interrupting Ruby’s mourning.  “And neither will she.  Your mother is unconscious for the moment, but not dead.  The process was incredibly taxing, but she is an incredibly resilient woman.”

A thought occurred to Weiss as she finally calmed down.  “If you can just come back after you die, then why not just die right now? It has to hurt less than having a hole in your chest.”

Azrael shook his head slightly, amused by several memories of Lucatiel and Vengarl’s “jumping contests”, as Vengarl had dubbed them, in the Dragon Aerie.  “Because Remnant does not have any bonfires.  If I die, I might never be able to return to this land, or to you.”  His expression suddenly grew stern.  “And I will not fail you like I failed Priscilla.”

Azrael looked at Weiss and Ruby, whose eyes were extremely red from her bawling, and cocked his head as he heard a Bullhead approaching.  Before it had even landed, Glynda Goodwitch had jumped off the side and strode right up to Azrael before reaching up and whacking him hard on the forehead with her riding crop.  Azrael didn’t flinch.

“Can you go more than four hours _without_ making my life harder?  Or does the thought that everything you do seems to endanger everyone around you not even occur to you?”

Azrael’s glare would have given some men a heart attack and killed them on the spot, but Glynda didn’t even flinch.  “Well?  Are you going to explain yourself?  Why on earth would you not only attack _and then murder_ a civilian out of the blue, but nearly maim your own student?”  The witch’s face was an even deeper red than the copious amounts of blood covering the street as she ranted and raved at the enormous man.

After several more minutes of Glynda screaming, Azrael responded, his voice dripping with malice.  “I suggest you look at your supposed victim, and then look at the footage from that security camera.” Azrael pointed at the camera he had noticed before the fight had broken out, “before levying such accusations at me.  I don’t take kindly to liars or manipulators, so I hope for your safety’s sake that this outburst is one of ignorance and not one of ill will.  After all,” he added, “my knife hasn’t taken any human lives tonight…yet.”

Glynda was shocked—Azrael had just explicitly threatened to murder her—but she looked at the woman lying on the ground next to Ruby.  She felt like a complete idiot as she saw the face of Summer Rose.

Glynda had been waiting for Team JNPR, Cardin, and Velvet at the school’s landing pad as they had arrived ten minutes earlier when Cardin jumped out of the Bullhead, falling more than twelve feet straight down.  The instant he hit the ground, Cardin began yelling that Azrael was in trouble and needed her help.  Glynda brought up her scroll and summoned the security footage from the shopping district.  As she directed the Bullhead pilot to go back into the city, she watched Azrael throw a fireball at Nora and assault a robed woman with no provocation.  Livid, Glynda closed her scroll and ordered the pilot to hurry up.

But now that she saw who was underneath that hood, Glynda cursed herself for her own idiocy—she was one of exactly five people who knew that Summer was alive and apparently working with Salem.  Her shoulders slumped as she apologized to Azrael.

“I’m sorry.  I should not have struck you.”

“It’s fine, I’ve had much worse in the last half hour.”  Glynda suddenly noticed the gaping hole in the center of his chest.  Azrael brought his left hand up to it and ignited his pyromancy flame.  Glynda nearly did a double take as Azrael summoned a Warmth orb and the wound closed before her eyes.  “For now, this woman needs to rest—she has been through an extraordinary ordeal.”

“That’s not happening.  Summer Rose is a traitor to the Kingdoms.”

It was Azrael’s turn to be shocked.  Behind him, Weiss’s eyes went wide, and Ruby almost attacked Glynda on the spot before Azrael raised his hand, silencing their questions before they could even ask them.  “Excuse me?”

“Eight years ago, Summer Rose was on a mission guarding a large caravan when Grimm attacked them.  Summer was thought to be killed in the attack, but shortly afterward villages in the surrounding area began to fall to Grimm in quick succession.  It was discovered that Summer had been attacking the villages and luring Grimm in to kill the townsfolk.  I led a team of Huntsmen into the area to root out the threat.  We were able to grievously wound Summer, but she managed to escape.  Clearly she has resurfaced and attempted to assassinate a professor in the street to try and lure Grimm to the city.”

Azrael knew Glynda wasn’t quite lying, but she also wasn’t telling the truth.  “Her actions were not her own.  Whatever Summer Rose did in the last eight years, she was not responsible for them.”  Azrael stared hard into Glynda’s eyes, hoping she would understand what he was trying to tell her.  “We can talk later, but first she needs to get to a bed to rest and recuperate.”

Glynda stared right back at Azrael, and the Undead felt relief wash over him.  “Fine, where should I take her.”

“I will take her to my dormitory; I don’t use the bed anyway.  You should bring Weiss and Ruby back to theirs so they can rest as well.”

Glynda nodded as Azrael bent over and hoisted Summer in his arms.  The small woman looked like a doll in the massive swordsman’s Ursa-like grip, Glynda noted.  The group boarded the Bullhead and began the short flight back to Beacon, but before takeoff Azrael made sure that Summer was securely fashioned to her seat with a rope he pulled from his leather hauberk.  After securing his cargo, Azrael gripped the handguards so tightly that the metal began to give as Glynda ordered the pilot to disembark.

After a few minutes, Glynda spoke up.  “Should I wake up Yang and tell her the news?”

“No.  Let her and Blake sleep as well.  All four of them earned it.  And let Team JNPR, Mr. Winchester, and Ms. Scarlatina know that I don’t blame them for anything that happened tonight.  Especially Jaune and Pyrrha.”  Glynda had an inquisitive expression on her face, but decided against any further conversation.  She would definitely be watching the security footage again and there was little doubt in her mind that she would see just what he meant.

* * *

Meanwhile, in a massive fortress in the northwestern edge of a continent shaped like a great black dragon, Salem let out a bloodcurdling howl that was heard by several sea captains whose ships were nearby, headed to or from Atlas.


	18. Rising Action

It was almost noon when Yang finally awoke.  As the brawler groggily made her way out of bed, she noticed something odd.

Complete silence.

Ruby and Weiss seemed to be gone, and Blake was still asleep.  Looking at her partner, Yang was shocked to notice a gruesome scar along her right arm.  _That’s strange, it looks like it healed a long time ago, but I’m sure Blake’s never had that scar._   Shrugging it off, Yang decided she would ask the Faunus about it later.  Thankful for the solitude, Yang made her way to the team’s shower.  As she let the hot water soak her exhausted body, Yang thought about the insane mission they had just completed.

Not only had they found a secret White Fang base in Mountain Glenn, they had stopped Roman’s plan to destroy Vale and they did it without anyone getting hurt!  A total success in Yang’s book.

After she spent twenty minutes carefully washing, rinsing, and drying her hair, Yang stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around herself, and began getting dressed in her street clothes.  After she was fully dressed, Yang turned to the door, more than ready to enjoy her lunch, and saw Ruby standing there, practically bouncing up and down on her toes.

“RUBY WHAT THE HELL?”

“Oh, come on sis, we grew up together!  Besides, I have something to show you!”  Ruby grabbed her half-sister’s wrist and began dragging her towards Azrael’s dorm room.

“But…lunch…” Yang pleaded, to no avail.

“Trust me, Yang, this is more important.”

Once the girls finally reached their teacher’s room, Ruby let her sister go.  As Ruby knocked quietly on the door, Yang stood up and dusted her skirt off, grumbling to herself.  The door opened, seeming of its own accord, and Yang’s jaw dropped.

Inside the room, on Azrael’s bed, lay Summer Rose—asleep, but very clearly alive.

* * *

Tears welled up in Yang’s eyes as her step-mother (and the only real mother she ever had) lay before her, seemingly back from the dead.

“Ruby…how?” Yang managed, her voice not even a whisper.

“Azrael did it, you should ask him.”  For the first time, Yang looked around Azrael’s room, noticing a disturbing lack of furnishings.  His walls were completely bare, save for thick black curtains covering his window, and the only bed—the one Summer now rested in—seemed like it had been put there as an afterthought.  Finally, Yang noticed Azrael and Weiss sitting in the far corner of the room.  Azrael sat almost completely still, as if his mind was somewhere else entirely.  Weiss sat next to him and seemed to be sleeping, her head leaning back against the wall.  Yang almost laughed; she had never seen the ice queen so relaxed in the three months they had known each other.

The blonde returned her attention to Summer.  Yang’s step-mother seemed to be uninjured, but it looked like her skin was extremely pale.  After several moments, Yang came to a scary realization—nothing was wrong with her, but her skin color had been changed.  Summer’s chest rose and fell at regular intervals, her eyes moved behind closed lids, and she even let out the faint snores that Yang remembered from her childhood.  This was the genuine article, Yang decided.  Summer Rose was alive.

Yang fell to her knees next to the bed, grabbing onto one of Summer’s hands.  They were warm and soft.  Yang started to cry.

* * *

Elsewhere in Beacon, Cinder was having a mild panic attack.  Salem had informed her what had happened the previous knight, and Cinder knew exactly who had done it.

More importantly, the person who had done it had spent an evening walking the grounds with Cinder, alone, sharing a conversation with her.  Everything was starting to unravel.  The pyromancer began hyperventilating.

Emerald looked over at her leader with genuine concern in her eyes.  She knew Cinder had just finished speaking with Salem, but had no idea what was said—underlings weren’t privy to such affairs.  She hopped off of her bed and moved over to Cinder, who glared at her.  “Get out.”

“But Cinder, wha-”

“GET. OUT.”  Cinder’s eyes flared up and Emerald cringed, quickly leaving Cinder alone with Neo, who simply looked at the taller woman with curiosity.  For her part, Cinder had calmed down somewhat, but was still too wrapped up in her own thoughts to notice the mute’s staring.

_How can he be so powerful?  He hasn’t even unlocked his Aura…_

One other option occurred to Cinder.  Whoever—or whatever—Azrael was, it was clear that he didn’t need Aura to fight the likes of Summer.  He was so powerful he had somehow managed to undo all of Salem’s control over the woman while leaving her Aura completely intact.  Clearly, he had either learned long ago how to fight without a Semblance or Aura, or he had no Aura to begin with.

Cinder didn’t know which possibility scared her more.

* * *

Yang finally wiped the tears from her eyes, having spent the last 30 minutes crying and holding Summer’s limp hands in her own before Ruby joined her.  Weiss had woken up from her nap, and stood next to Blake, the pair silently watching their partners cry their eyes out.  Yang stood up and looked at Azrael with a confused expression. 

Azrael had not moved an inch the entire time they had been in his room, but before Yang could say anything, she felt a soft hand on her shoulder.  She looked over and saw Weiss shake her head.  Weiss knew better than to try and interrupt him.  Her mentor was clearly attempting to hear something in the distance, although Weiss had no idea what that something might be.

Blake rubbed her arm where her new scar was, uncomfortable with the grisly mark upon her skin, as she turned toward Azrael.  Whatever he was doing, it wasn’t listening.  The Faunus girl knew her hearing was just as good as his, if not better—and she couldn’t hear anything going on outside except the usual sounds of students going about their day.

Whatever Azrael was doing, it wasn’t just listening or meditating.

* * *

_Lucatiel, where are you?_

Azrael had taken his place on the floor of his dormitory immediately after laying Summer down in the small bed in his room—a bed he never used.  Once he made certain she was sleeping and not dead, Azrael sat down and closed his eyes, reaching out as far as he could with the Darksign, attempting to locate Lucatiel’s soul.  He was not succeeding, and it enraged him no end.  For over twelve hours he had been searching the Emerald Forest for anything other than the Grimm and their hollowed presence, to no avail.

Faintly, as if from a great distance, Azrael heard Yang and Ruby enter his room.  _Good, she’s finally awake_.  Azrael immediately refocused back on his search, when he noticed something.

Up until now, Azrael had never investigated the Grimm’s souls in any real depth.  Despite what the Huntsmen and Huntresses were taught, they _did_ have souls, but their souls were hollow, devoid of personality.  Azrael was the only person with enough first-hand experience in absorbing the souls of others to tell the difference, and he had decided it better to keep this knowledge to himself.  Better to not give the people of Remnant a reason to feel empathy for the creatures.

But now, Azrael was searching the Emerald Forest, looking for his comrade.  He was, for lack of a better term, scanning each individual soul in the area of the Forest where Pyrrha had told him they left Lucatiel.  As he did, he was forced into very intimate contact with the Grimm’s souls, and eventually, he discovered something shocking: the Grimm’s souls weren’t hollow, they were Dark.

Filing this information away for later thought, Azrael continued his search, and several hours later, he finally located Lucatiel.  Her soul was weakened significantly, but it was there, and there did not appear to be any Grimm anywhere near her.

Azrael opened his eyes, relieved.  Lucatiel was alive, for the moment at least.

* * *

_I will not die here.  Not like this, and not to such weak creatures as these._

With both her legs broken in several places and her right arm lying somewhere on the ground, ripped from its socket, Lucatiel was moving very slowly.  The Behemoths had been stronger than expected, but she had triumphed—albeit barely.  Gingerly placing her dented, scratched shield on her back, Lucatiel slowly dragged herself to her dropped sword using her one functional limb.  One she reached it, she lifted it and returned it to its sheath with ease before she turned around, bracing herself for the arduous journey home.

 _Now it’s just a matter of making it back, and I will NOT let Vengarl get there first,_ Lucatiel thought to herself with a pained grin. 

* * *

Several weeks had passed, and Summer was still asleep.  At Azrael’s request, Team RWBY was excused from the rest of their classes for the semester.  Port and Oobleck had been completely understanding, but Peach was another matter.  _How could somebody so small yell so loudly—and for so long?_ Azrael thought, shuddering at the thought of another one of her “lectures”.  The payment Azrael had promised her, fifty green titanite shards from his bottomless box for her research, seemed to the Undead to be a small price to pay to avoid incurring his coworker’s wrath.

During class time Azrael now had the opportunity to closely tutor Team JNPR, as well as Cardin and Velvet, who were apparently an “item”, as Nora put it—the Undead didn’t know what she meant and didn’t feel like prying.  All six of them had improved dramatically from the beginning of the semester, and Azrael was glad to see it.

A month after Azrael and RWBY had returned from their mission, a single bullhead was seen speeding towards Beacon.  As it landed, an enormous man fell out of the side of the vehicle, followed by six young adults.  A stretcher was immediately brought out, and Vengarl was rushed to the medical wing.  Halfway there, Azrael caught up with the convoy, and starting asking his friend what had happened.  The massive mercenary was very near death, and could only utter a single word, but the word made Azrael stop in his tracks and made his blood run cold.

“Kirk.”

* * *

Lucatiel had finally began to approach the edge of the Emerald Forest.  She knew she would be able to find help nearby, and from there she could return to Beacon after her legs had healed.

Just as Lucatiel saw the canopy fall away, she felt a pair of heavy boots crunch down on her ankles, eliciting a tortured howl from her lungs.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.  Such poor manners, and from the second-ranking knight of Mirrah at that,” spoke a horrifyingly familiar voice, as three pairs of legs appeared in front of Lucatiel—one covered with golden armor, another with simple metal combat leggings, and the third hidden beneath a set of black robes.  “It seems like you were already having trouble moving.  Shiva, get off of our friend’s ankles.”  The boots were lifted off of Lucatiel’s legs, but she could still feel the excruciating pain.  Despite her injuries, Lucatiel still spat out a retort, her voice filled with malice.

“Navlaan.  I see you finally picked your moment.  I figured you would need three friends just to kill somebody with one arm and two broken legs.”

“Your spirit isn’t quite broken.  That’s good.  I will enjoy crushing it like the bug you are.”

Lucatiel started laughing, even though it caused excruciating pain.  “You actually think I’ll let you take me?”  With that, she activated her Darksign, and Lucatiel—weapons, armor, and everything else—disappeared from Remnant.


	19. Secrets Revealed

“Sun, I need you to slow down.”

It was very late at night, and Sun was clearly exhausted.  Azrael was standing inside Beacon’s medical wing next to an unconscious Vengarl—Azrael had almost chuckled when he saw the hospital bed bend under the former sellsword’s massive bulk—and trying to get an explanation out of Sun, with Coco standing at the other side of the bed.  The monkey Faunus was understandably shaken, but Azrael did not have the patience to coddle his emotions.  He needed to know what had happened, and how Kirk was involved.

 _Kirk…what’s your plan here?  You have to know how I’m going to react to attacking Vengarl._   Kirk, the Knight of Thorns, was once one of Azrael’s close allies.  While the two were never friends, they shared a goal: helping Quelaan, one of the Daughters of Chaos, who had sacrificed her eyesight, her children, and her own health to try and heal the plague that had infested Blighttown.  The only thing that brought her some fleeting comfort was sacrificing humanity—small black stones that contained pure Dark, the primal essence of the humans of Azrael’s world—and so a handful of warriors went out to find it by any means necessary.  Most of these fighters were inconsequential, but before Azrael swore himself to Priscilla, he spent several years as a Servant of Chaos.

While Azrael preferred to find humanity piecemeal from corpses and extract it from the giant rats found in the sewers of the Depths, Kirk had a more…direct approach.  A former Darkwraith, Kirk used the Red Eye Orb to invade the worlds of other Undead and murder them.  This was how he and Azrael were first acquainted, but eventually the two warriors met properly, and a truce was formed.  Kirk told Azrael about Darkstalker Kaathe and New Londo, and Azrael gave him an old ring that allowed the knight to speak with Quelaan.  It was one of a pair of rings that Azrael had on his fingers when he first awoke in the Undead Asylum, and Azrael had given Lucatiel the second one before he had sent her to move Quelaan.

While Kirk was certainly not a nice man, Azrael knew that he was not an evil one.  Attacking Vengarl didn’t make sense.  Azrael had to find out what he was doing at Fort Alcova.

Finally, Sun had composed himself.  As two more stretchers were wheeled into the medical bay, the boy began to speak.  “We had been there for two weeks.  The fortifications had been holding strong against the Grimm, and any small herds that came by got picked off by Coco, Neptune, or one of the town’s guards.  But yesterday, this…thing showed up.  It looked like a man wearing armor, but I’ve never seen armor like it before.  It was pitch black and covered in spikes.  His sword and shield had the spikes too.”  _Yes, that’s definitely him._   But it was what Sun said next that intrigued Azrael.  “But when he got a bit closer, it was like his Aura was visible.  The armor was black, but he was covered in red, like there was some sort of…well…aura around him.”

Azrael interrupted him immediately.  “Are you absolutely certain about this?  I need to know for sure, Sun.”

“Yes sir.  It was definitely red.”

“Fuck.  Alright, that’s all I need to know.  Class is cancelled for this week.”  Azrael turned on his heel and left for his dormitory, leaving his students shocked, more at the profanity than the abrupt exit.

Coco and Sun looked at each other in confusion before the nurse ushered them out of the room.  Shrugging, the two students stayed in the hospital room with their teacher and the only two remaining citizens of Fort Alcova, not willing to leave their side, nor to risk their necks spying on Azrael.

* * *

Yang had not slept in several days.  Other than her classes, which Azrael compelled Yang to go to—with physical force more than once—the blonde brawler had not left Summer’s side for any reason.  Ruby had been right there alongside her sister, and were it not for Blake and Weiss bringing them three meals a day and making sure the sisters ate them, the pair would have surely starved to death by now.

So, when Azrael burst into the room and demanded all four members of Team RWBY leave the room, Yang didn’t have nearly enough energy to resist Weiss dragging her out.

As the door slammed in their faces, Yang and Ruby both collapsed against the wall, finally asleep, and Blake looked at her only conscious teammate with a questioning glance.  Weiss shook her head warningly—she had seen Azrael’s face as he entered, and it brooked no argument.  Whatever was going on, two things were certain: it was important enough to risk Ruby and Yang missing their mother’s first waking moments back among the living, and Azrael considered it too dangerous for Team RWBY to be anywhere near it.

Hoisting their knocked-out teammates over their shoulders, Weiss and Blake slowly trudged back to their room.  Azrael might be busy, but they still had other classes to study for.

* * *

Azrael had already stripped off his armor, leaving him in a plain white shirt and shorts provided by the school, by the time Team RWBY—or rather, Blake—had closed the door behind them.  He was certain both Yang and Ruby would despise him for keeping them away from their mother, but he needed to focus.

Kirk.  That was a name he had not thought about for a long time.

Azrael had hoped that once he brought Quelaan to Majula, Kirk would join him and the other inhabitants, at least as an ally if not necessarily a friend.  Unfortunately, before his plan had come to fruition, coincidence had intervened.  Some would call it fate, but Azrael knew better.  Fate was simply a word created by Gwyn to justify his genocide of humanity that had begun when he linked the Dark Soul to the First Flame.

 _A man chooses.  A slave obeys._   Azrael didn’t know where he had heard that little aphorism—perhaps it was a fragment of his life before the Asylum—but it had served him well.  Frampt attempted to manipulate Azrael into killing himself.  Kaathe had attempted to make Azrael his puppet.  Aldia had attempted to get Azrael to abandon his friends and the kingdom that was now his by right of conquest.  Even Yuria had attempted to convince Azrael to steal the Flame for himself.

All of them had perished, some by Azrael’s blade, others by their own machinations.  When Azrael discovered the Sable Church’s greatest victory, he nearly passed out from his triumphant laughter.  The Sable Church were the most fervent servants of Kaathe, the Primordial Serpent, since the Four Kings many centuries before them.  In their hubris, they attacked and killed the other Primordial Serpent, Frampt.  Azrael could barely contain his joy at the delicious irony—if they had sought him out earlier, Azrael would have told them the truth: Kaathe and Frampt were two ends of the same serpent.  As those fools killed their supposed enemy, they were slaying their own god.

Mindful not to get lost in reminiscing, Azrael focused on the task at hand: Lucatiel.  If Kirk knew Vengarl was here, then he knew Azrael and Lucatiel were as well.  _It’s a good thing he is here as a black phantom_ , thought Azrael, amused at the thought that he was happy that an invader had shown up, _otherwise he might have allies in Remnant._   Azrael closed his eyes and focused his Darksign, reaching out for Lucatiel…and finding nothing.

Worried, Azrael broadened the search throughout the forest where he had last sensed her.  For several minutes, he found nothing.  Then, suddenly, one of his worst fears came to fruition, as he sensed several familiar Undead, none of them Lucatiel, moving through the forest towards the deserts of Vacuo.

_Navlaan…how did you get here? How did you bring them?_

Each of the Undead he sensed sent shivers down Azrael’s very soul, but upon identifying the final Undead, the unease and fear turned into rabid, animalistic rage, and Azrael let out an animalistic scream heard throughout the entire school, and even down into the city below.

* * *

“Hello James, how nice of you to drop by.”  Ozpin’s expression was stoic.  Both men knew how Ozpin felt about Ironwood’s tendency to bring significant military forces everywhere he went.  “Now would you mind explaining how you didn’t know anything about this?”  Beacon’s headmaster gestured to the video screen next to his desk, where footage of Azrael and Summer’s fight several weeks before was playing.

Just as Ironwood was about to comment, the video reached its conclusion.  The general’s face went pale as Azrael performed the disquieting technique to cleanse Summer of Salem’s influence.

“I’m telling you Oz, I have no idea how he did that.  Why haven’t you asked him?”

“Because, James,” Glynda interrupted, walking into the meeting with her trademark scowl out in full force, “He has a well-documented habit of being frustratingly cryptic about his past.  All we know about his life before Beacon is that he was Weiss’s tutor, and that the two of you met.  He spent a decade in Atlas, do you really expect us to believe that you knew nothing about whatever… _this_ …is?”

It was Ironwood’s turn to scowl.  “No, I don’t expect you to believe it.  But it’s the truth.”

Glynda looked ready to launch into a full-blown tirade when a rabid scream was heard from the school.

**“LAUTREC YOU BASTARD!”**

As the scream faded, the only sound that could be heard was the crack of breaking porcelain.  Regaining their composure—all of which had been abandoned as they had recoiled at the horrifying sound emanating from the school below—Glynda and Ironwood looked toward their leader in unison.  Ozpin’s face had a strange look on it, that neither of them could quite puzzle out.  His beloved coffee mug lay in pieces on the floor.  After a moment, Glynda snapped out of her reverie, waving her riding crop and reforming her employer’s favorite piece of kitchenware.

Ozpin finally spoke.  “As I was saying…James, please explain everything you know about our dear friend.”

* * *

Azrael looked more like a gelatinous blur than a human as he sprinted out of his room, not bothering to open the door, opting instead to simply demolish it with his bulk, and headed towards Ozpin’s office.

In under a minute, he was there, and he was met with a locked door and a shoddily made “Do Not Disturb” sign tacked onto it.

Raising his fist to turn the door into a pile of fine splinters and glass shards, Azrael was shocked when he felt a small hand wrap around his wrist.

“Mister Ironwood is busy, sir.”

Azrael turned towards his assailant, pyromancy flame already ignited, and saw…a little girl.  The girl was short, even shorter than Ruby, and had a strange black and green choker wrapped around her neck.  She had pale skin, curly orange hair, and was wearing a simple gray-green dress with suspenders.

As Azrael lowered his fist, the girl let go of him, and he looked at her bright green eyes.  _Too bright_ , thought the Undead, who suddenly realized that she had snuck up on him.  He could sense her Aura, now that he was aware of her presence, but she lacked a soul—one that Azrael could sense, at any rate.

“Look, little golem, I have business with Ozpin.  If James is there as well, all the better.  I must go in there.”

“I’m sorry.  Mister Ironwood said not to let in anyone taller than him.”  _Looks like he knows I’m here…not that that’s particularly surprising_.  “Who created you, anyway?”

A look of panic crossed the girl’s face.  “What do you mean? I’m just a little girl-hic!”  The girl could not hold in a hiccup as soon as she finished her sentence.

“Lie to me again and you will be cut to pieces.  I know a golem when I see one.  You do not have a human soul.  Now, who created you?”  A diamond-hard edge had crept into Azrael’s voice.

The girl covered her mouth, unwilling to divulge any secrets to Azrael.  He advanced on her, ready to pry the secret out of her by force.  Just as he had cornered the scared automaton, he heard a familiar voice.

“Azrael, leave her alone!”  Azrael backed down and turned around, already knowing who it was.  “Hello, Winter.  How are you?”

“I’m fine.  Leave Penny be.”  Azrael felt a spark of pride.  Winter certainly had not softened in their time apart, but he could still hear genuine care for the diminutive girl in her voice.

“Fine, but just tell me one thing.  Do you know?”

“I do.” Winter’s stern expression didn’t move an inch.  Azrael turned back to the door, moving to open it.  “Penny, it’s alright.  Azrael is a friend of the general.”  Azrael looked over his shoulder to see a wire being retracted into Penny’s wrist.  He ignored it and entered Ozpin’s office.

Inside, Ironwood, Ozpin, and Glynda were all waiting for him.  “I see you met my friend’s daughter Penny.”  Ironwood’s gaze was boring into Azrael, silently begging for the warrior to not reveal anything.

“I did.  The girl is quite interesting.”  Relief washed over the Atlesian general’s features.  “I will talk to her again later.  Right now, I have a confession to make.”  Azrael turned towards Glynda and Ozpin.  “To all of you.”  Glynda’s scowl deepened, while the headmaster merely raised a single eyebrow and took a sip from his recently repaired coffee mug.

“But first, a question for all of you,” Azrael continued.  “Tell me: do you believe in fairy tales?”

* * *

All over school, students were jolted awake by Azrael’s scream.  Even students who were still awake—namely, Team CFVY, who were eager to hear from their leader just what had happened to Fort Alcova—were all thrown from their chairs in surprise by the ear-pounding shriek.

By the time Team RWBY had made it to Azrael’s room, it looked like several hurricanes had passed through.  The door was completely annihilated, and there were shards of it embedded along the walls around the entrance to the room.  Inside the dormitory, the window had been shattered, throwing powdered glass onto the courtyard below.  Thankfully, there were no actual decorations in the room for Azrael’s quick exit to have destroyed, but Summer had been turned onto her side by the maelstrom of movement, and her sheets were completely undone.

As Yang and Ruby rushed to Summer’s side, Ruby taking off her cloak and using it as an extra blanket for her mother’s sleeping form, Blake and Weiss attempted to start picking up the remains of Azrael’s door.  Sometime after Blake’s third splinter, they gave up, opting instead to give the daughters of Taiyang Xiao Long some privacy by standing in the empty doorway shoulder to shoulder, facing the hallway to deter anyone except Azrael from entering.

As they stood there, Blake and Weiss began to whisper to each other.

“Have you ever seen him do something like this?”

“No, never, he’s never even lost his temper as far as I know.  Even when he first started training me and I could barely hold a sword properly, he was always so patient.”

“Hmm.  I wonder what set him off.”

Weiss had no answer.  She had told the truth.  Azrael had never wavered in the fatherly stoicism he had shown Weiss and Winter the entire time they had known him.  Weiss recalled one time, when she was 13, before Azrael had revealed that he had Myrtenaster made for her, she had accidentally broken one of Azrael’s rapiers that she had been training with—he had told her it belonged to somebody named Ricard—and she had hidden the broken weapon in Whitley’s room, falling prey to the idiotic guilt avoidance and pernicious cruelty that plagues every pubescent at some point in their teen years.  Weiss had been practicing extra on her own, and was afraid Azrael would be livid with her.  But when Azrael had presented the weapon to her and demanded to know what had happened, Weiss folded like a house of cards in a tornado, and confessed the entire thing.  Rather than the screaming fit Jacques had taught Weiss to expect after admitting to wrongdoing, Azrael laid a hand on her shoulder and comforted the terrified girl.

“Weiss, mistakes happen, and they’re not your fault.  You’re young, you haven’t learned that yet.  But when you deceive, the blame lies entirely upon your own shoulders.”  With that, Azrael walked into his dwelling—a small hut he had erected in the courtyard, against Jacque’s wishes (although he claimed that Weiss’s mother Willow had given him permission, Weiss was fairly certain the Schnee matriarch had been three sheets to the wind during that conversation).  Weiss heard the telltale _clink-clink_ of metal striking metal, and less than a minute later, Azrael emerged from the hut with the rapier, good as new.  “Next time, be a bit more careful, would you?” Azrael asked, handing back the blade with a hint of a smile on his face.

Returning her thoughts to the present, Weiss decided that whatever had angered Azrael like this must be truly horrifying.  “I don’t know, Blake, and I don’t think I want to know.”

* * *

“So…you’re a zombie?”  Ironwood knew Azrael was telling the truth, but he had to keep up appearances.

“I don’t know what that is, but my guess is no.”

Glynda stepped in before James said something incredibly stupid and got himself an oversized fist to the skull for his trouble.  “Assuming all of what you say is true…how could these men follow you from Drangleic?”  The professor tried to pronounce the word the same way Azrael had, to little success.

“I don’t know, and that’s what bothers me.”

Ozpin spoke up.  “You can track them, correct?”

“Yes.”

“If you would be so kind, where were these men headed?”

“Towards Vacuo, although I doubt they know where I am.  I can sense their souls as a byproduct of my heavy exposure to the Abyss, a trip none of them have made.  Frankly, it’s awful luck that they ran into Lucatiel at all.”

Glynda was shocked.  “How can you be so blasé?  Your friend was just murdered and you don’t seem to care at all!”

“Two things, ma’am.  First of all, Lucatiel wasn’t murdered—Navlaan and her have a history, and he would want her alive.  She would never allow that, and so the fact that she died tells me that she killed herself by activating her Darksign.  Second, you’re right.  I don’t care.  And neither does Lucatiel.”  At this, the room was speechless.  Seeing their looks of confusion, Azrael sighed.  “I will explain again.  We are Undead.  When we die, we come back to life at the last bonfire we rested at.  Lucatiel is probably back in Majula right now, furious that she died before Vengarl.”

James took up the conversation.  “We know what you said, it’s just hard to imagine death being so…meaningless.”

“It’s not meaningless at all.  Death in Remnant might be a looming specter, to be delayed and avoided at all costs, but in Lordran and Drangleic, death is a teacher.  Every time I have died, I have learned from the experience.  Learned when to duck instead of jump.  Learned when to press my advantage and when to retreat.  I have lived for at least 15,000 years, and I remember every lesson death ever taught me.  Death is the most effective teacher I have ever studied under.”

All three of the Huntsmen were silent, ruminating on this.  Finally, Ironwood spoke again.  “If this is true, then would it be possible t-”

Azrael didn’t even let the general finish his sentence.  “Absolutely not.  I have seen that line of thinking play out many times, and it has always ended in disaster.  Smarter men than you or I have tried and failed to harness the Undead.  Even if there was a way to do it, I would burn your nation to the ground before I allowed you to have even a single squad of Undead warriors at your command.”  James was visibly shaken by the threat, but recovered admirably.

“How dare you threaten my people with war.”  _Well, James certainly is determined to keep up the facade._  Azrael knew Ironwood knew about him, but for the moment decided he would permit the grandstanding.

“It wouldn’t be war, it would be mercy.  When he wakes up, talk to Vengarl about what dying does to a man’s mind.”  Ironwood nodded solemnly, seeing the steely determination in Azrael’s eyes.  James knew a brick wall when he saw one.

Glynda was the next to speak.  “If you can track him, can you give us an exact location?  We will need to warn the headmaster of Shade Academy if these men are heading towards Vacuo.  Not to mention this ‘Kirk’ fellow.”

“I will see to Kirk myself, I don’t want anyone else involved.  But I will pinpoint the other four for you.  I need absolute silence.”  Azrael closed his eyes and reached out with the Darksign, easily tracking Lautrec’s and Navlaan’s path from the Emerald Forest.  As he returned his gaze back to Vale to try and find Kirk, something else grabbed his attention.  There was a sickeningly familiar presence emanating from underneath the school.  Azrael slowly opened his eyes and stared at Professor Ozpin, consumed with rage.

“What the hell have you done, Ozpin?”


	20. Ambition, Despair, Corruption, Chaos

“What the hell have you done?”

Without waiting for an answer, Azrael leapt across Ozpin’s desk and grabbed the white-haired man by his throat before hurling him into the massive bay window.  Almost faster than Glynda or Ironwood’s eyes could follow, the Undead had closed the distance and resume strangling their friend and leader.

“EXPLAIN.  NOW.”

Ozpin did not struggle; he didn’t even try to breathe—he knew any air going into his lungs would simply get trapped inside by the warrior’s crushing grip.  Flaring his Aura, Ozpin managed to slacken Azrael’s grip slightly, and seized his opportunity.  Within seconds, the entire office was in ruins.  Ozpin’s desk was cracked in half, windows had been shattered, and his coffee cup had been blown to smithereens.

Azrael hadn’t even brought a weapon and had no Aura, and he was still going toe to toe with three of the most powerful and skilled Huntsmen on Remnant.  And he was winning.

Eventually the fight stopped—Azrael was dangling Ozpin outside the building by the scruff of his collar, fully prepared to let the gangly headmaster fall hundreds of feet to his death.

“I DON’T WANT EXCUSES! WHY IS SHE HERE?”

“First, I must ask you to calm down and put me back in my office.”

His eyes darting between the three adversaries, Azrael wasn’t budging.  Behind him, he heard the door slide open.  “Azrael, what are you doing?”

“Winter, do you know what they’re hiding underneath the school?”

“What are you talking about?”

Ozpin, still dangling out the window, spoke.  “If I might interject-” Azrael stopped him short.

“You’re not involved.”

The headmaster looked down pointedly.  “I’m feeling rather involved.”

“Fine.”  Azrael finally set his employer down inside the office.  “You have exactly ten seconds to explain.”

“I can’t do that.  This story requires a lot of background.”

“I am 110% done with your bullshit.  Tell me how and why she is here.”

“I can give you both.  Amber is here because she was severely injured by three assailants several months ago, and the attack left her in critical condition.  As for the how, Qrow interrupted the attack and saved the Fall Maiden from certain death, just in the nick of time.”

Azrael cocked his head sideways.  “You answered neither of my questions.  I don’t want to know about the vessel, she can rot for all I care.”  Glynda and Winter blanched at this, and Ironwood’s jaw clenched.  Ozpin took a sip of coffee—although nobody had seen him fix the shattered mug.

James found his voice.  “Azrael, how could you say that?  I know you, you’re not this callous.”

“You don’t know nearly enough about me to make that judgement, James.  Whoever that girl once was, she is gone now.  Death is preferable to what you people have done to her.”

“And what exactly would that be?” Glynda asked, indignant.

It was Azrael’s turn to look confused.  After a moment, he regained his composure and looked directly at Ozpin.  For several seconds, nobody moved as the two men stared deep into each other’s eyes, neither budging an inch.

After an uncomfortably long pause, Azrael’s voice shattered the silence.  “You never told them.  You knew what she was and you never told them.”  Ozpin didn’t say a word.  He didn’t have to.  “Take me to her.”  The headmaster nodded.  Everyone began to walk out of the office, to the out of service elevator just next door.

It was time Azrael met the Fall Maiden.

* * *

The ride down into the bowels of Beacon was just as uncomfortable as the conversation in Ozpin’s office.  Azrael stared forward, watching the elevator display light up as it tracked their descent.  Winter looked between Ironwood and Azrael, torn between her superior officer and the man who was more a father to her than Jacques had even been.  Ozpin stood next to Azrael, just as quiet as the massive Undead.  Glynda scowled.

After what felt like an eternity, the elevator dinged, and the door opened, revealing a massive hall.  Enormous rectangular pillars held up a sweeping ceiling, at least 70 feet above their heads.  Each pillar was adorned with a weak lightbulb, casting the entire chamber in a pallid green glow.

At the end of the soccer field-length corridor, Azrael saw a strange device: two metal boxes, large enough to hold a single person each, connected with a mass of wires and tubes.  As the warrior drew closer to the contraption, his Darksign started convulsing.  Closer and closer he walked, until the mark of his curse was practically ripping itself out of his torso.  Shoving it out of his thoughts as he reached the device, Azrael looked into the pods.  The one on the right was empty, but the left pod held a young woman.

She appeared to be the same age as Winter, although they looked nothing alike.  Where Winter had snow white hair and pale alabaster skin, this girl had mocha skin and slightly darker brown hair.  She wore a simple white bra and skirt, and her attractive face was marred by a strange scarring that covered her entire left face.

Azrael was not interested in the girl’s appearance; in fact, after a single glance, he closed his eyes, focusing on the girl’s soul. Her Aura was all but gone, but there was something else there.  Something Azrael had met before—something he had killed before.

Azrael opened his eyes and turned to Ozpin.  “Her soul has been ripped in half.  How?”

“We have no idea.  The woman who did this escaped.  Our best guess right now is…”  The headmaster seemed hesitant.  However, Ironwood shared no such compunction.

“The woman is working for Salem.”

Azrael simply raised an eyebrow in response.

“We don’t know where she came from, or even if she’s human, but as far as we can tell, Salem is either in command of the Grimm…or their mother.”

“That’s it?  That’s the secret, the name of the Grimm’s brood mother?  How pedestrian.”

“How could you be so blasé about this?” Glynda nearly shrieked.  “Do you have any idea how many people have fought and died to keep this secret?”

Azrael’s fierce gaze fell upon the blonde sorcerer.  “A great many, I imagine.  I also imagine you have reasons for keeping this secret.  But that does not excuse keeping it from me.”  Azrael growled the last word, his anger rising.  “In any case, this is good news.”  Confused looks were his reward.

Winter had been standing behind the rest of the group, deep in thought.  Ironwood had told her about the Maidens, but a mother to the Grimm?  It was preposterous.  And yet, both her surrogate fathers were talking about it like this Salem’s existence was not just a possibility, but immutable fact.  She opened her mouth.  “Azrael, how is this good?”  A strange noise and a dim red light emanated from behind Winter.

“Because, Winter, you kill a snake by cutting off its head.  Now that I know that the head exists, I can sever it.”

There was a harsh laugh from behind Winter.  “You seriously think you can kill Salem?”  The group turned around to see a woman standing behind them, wearing red and black robes with an enormous katana sheathed at her hip.  Her eyes were blood red, and her face was strikingly similar to that of one of Azrael’s students.

Raven Branwen stood there, a bemused look on her face, as she spoke.  “Everyone in this room has tried at one point or another, and we have all failed to get anywhere near her stronghold.  I’ve fought you before, and while you are certainly strong, you’re not invincible.  Even the Fall Maiden was easily defeated by one of Salem’s underlings.  What makes you so certain you can defeat her?”

Azrael pondered this.  Strong as he was, the woman had a point.  As far as Azrael knew, one death and he would wake up in Majula with no way back to Remnant, no way to get back to Weiss.  Then an idea struck him.  “Ozpin, how did these ‘Maidens’ come about.  And I don’t want any cryptic riddles.  I need to know how you created these…things.”

The headmaster looked around at his allies and realized it was hopeless.  He would have had to reveal it eventually.  “You claim to have lived for 15,000 years, Azrael.  I believe you, I can see it in your eyes—the weight of age, of experience.  While this body might not be quite as ancient as yours, I have also lived far longer than any man should.  My Semblance is unique, and some might even call it evil.  Every time my body dies, I move on to a new host, and consume their consciousness, taking their body for my own.” Azrael’s expression changed into something inscrutable to everyone except Winter.  It was an expression she had seen once, when Azrael had accompanied her on a tour of the Schnee Dust mines and he saw the treatment of the Faunus workers—it was pure, unadulterated disgust.  “2,000 years ago, Salem and I began this war.  I know not who created us, only that we are both Human, and that Salem is wholly nihilistic.  She will not rest until this entire world is destroyed.

“For many years, we simply tried to kill each other outright with blades and fists, waging a two-man war.  After five years of this, I realized we were evenly matched.  I needed something to tip the scales.  I went into hiding and discovered a small village situated next to a massive Dust deposit.  I showed them how to use it as a weapon and a source of energy, and began to train them to make war.  Unfortunately, Salem seemed to have the same thought as I did.  She had discovered another village, but instead of uplifting the villagers, she dominated them, twisting them into weapons of war, creating the First Grimm.  Since then, we have been locked in a mortal struggle for the very fate of Remnant.”

Azrael had not broken eye contact for the entire speech.  Ozpin spoke the truth.  “So Salem must die to protect the people of this world, then?”

“Yes.  Victory or death.  No other outcomes are possible.”

“Alright, I will not go against you for the moment.”  Azrael turned back to Amber’s pod.  “However, I still don’t understand why she is here.”

“About 600 years ago, humanity had been pushed to the very brink.  The Grimm were simply too strong and too numerous to hold back.  So humanity abandoned their villages and retreated to the deserts of Vacuo.  While the rest of mankind hid, I searched for a trump card to turn the tide.  I discovered four great sources of power, one in each continent, one for each season.  Winter.  Summer.  Spring.  Fall.  I took each of these powers and bonded it to a young girl, granting the enormous power in exchange for their service as Huntresses.”

“I see.  Unfortunately, you got the names wrong.  If you want concepts to name them after, here’s a better list: Ambition.  Despair.  Corruption.  Chaos.”

“What do you mean?”

Azrael rubbed his forehead in frustration.  “Do you not understand yet?  Were you not listening when I told you about Lordran?  These powers you found are not to be meddled with.  They are souls.  Souls so powerful they can slake any thirst, no matter how ravenous.”

There could be no mistake.  Now that he was close to her, Azrael was certain.  She might have been broken, beaten, and scarred.  She might have had half of her soul ripped from her body.  But this comatose girl in front of Azrael was the Witch of Izalith.


	21. Recursion and Research

Cinder woke with a start.  She looked around the dorm room and saw that Mercury, Emerald and Neo had all also woken up.  In the distance, they heard a horrifying scream slowly fading away.

“Azrael…”  All eyes turned to Mercury.  “It’s definitely him.  I don’t know what set him off, but if he’s this angry, I doubt it’s good for us.”

Emerald and Neo stayed silent, one from curiosity, the other out of a lack of the necessities for speech.

Cinder spoke up.  “Mercury, tell me, just how much of a threat is Azrael?”

The grey-haired young man thought for a few seconds.  He had never sparred with his teacher, but he had sparred with Lucatiel exactly once, outside of class.  It had not gone well, and the medical bay had to lodge yet another complaint against Azrael.  “If the way the two assistants defer to him is any indication, then he could destroy everything.”

Cinder’s eyes widened.  “Surely you can’t be serious?”

The expression on Mercury’s face remained stoic as ever, but his voice had taken on a tone Cinder and Emerald had never heard from him before: one of respect.  “Before we left on our mission with Vengarl, I sparred with Lucatiel.  At first I went easy, but she could tell.  She lowered her weapons and demanded I ‘take it seriously’, so I didn’t hold back.”  Neo sat up straight, her interest piqued.  Mercury continued, “But it didn’t mean a damn thing.  She didn’t have any weaknesses I could exploit.  She swung that big sword of hers around like it was made of paper, and her shield didn’t even get scuffed by my weapons.”

Silence reigned in the bedroom.  Mercury pressed onward.  “I also saw Vengarl fight a lot during our mission.  If he wakes up before the tournament is over, he could even go toe-to-toe with-” Mercury stopped as he noticed pain forming in Cinder’s eyes.  “Cinder, what’s wrong.”

Cinder had fallen off her bed and down to her knees, clutching at her chest.  _Something is wrong.  Why can’t I feel Amber’s aura?_   “The Fall Maiden…she’s dead.”

For the first time, Emerald spoke.  “Shouldn’t that be a good thing?”

“Normally, yes, but I can’t…I can’t feel the other half of her power.  It’s like it’s been locked away somewhere.”

At that moment, a small earthquake shook the ground, and Team CMEN looked out the window.  This would complicate their plans rather severely.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the underground Vault, Azrael was smiling.  Around him, Ozpin, Ironwood, and Glynda were splayed across the floor, in varying states of consciousness.  Azrael stared at Winter before nodding in appreciation.

Winter gritted her teeth.  She wanted to do something, to help her commanding officer, but against Azrael?  _Even if he wasn’t my friend, what could I have done?_   The Undead broke her reverie.  “There was nothing you could have done, Winter.  The Witch of Izalith must die.”

“The what?  That is the Fall Maiden, you can’t just kill her.”  Azrael ignored her and walked up to Amber’s pod, recoiling his fist.  In a single punch, he nearly shattered the glass, punching a large hole in the protective casing.  Two more punches and the Maiden was bare, unprotected from the Undead warrior’s fury.  In a single motion, Azrael grabbed Amber’s skull and caved it in.  Blood and grey matter spurted out, coating the inside of the pod.  Amber was dead, her soul separated from the vile influence of Izalith.  Azrael heard two words, not with his ears but with the Darksign, nothing more than a whisper carried by a soft wind.  _Thank you._   He closed his eyes, not bothering to whisper back.  He had a more important duty to attend to.

The powers of the Maiden might travel from host to host, but Azrael was an Undead.  More importantly, Azrael was an Undead who had personal experience with the Chaos Soul, regardless of how fractured it was at the moment.  Before it could escape to rejoin with its other half, Azrael plunged his hand into the dead woman’s chest and dragged it out manually.

Ironwood’s eyes slowly opened.  As the first to attempt to stop Azrael, he had received the lightest wounds, but he was still knocked out cold.  He woke to what seemed a nightmare.  Ozpin and Glynda were both still unconscious.  Amber was dead and Azrael was mutilating her corpse.  Ironwood snapped himself from his stupor and started screaming.  “What the fuck has gotten into you, Azrael?  Have you no honor?”

Rather than respond, Azrael slowly turned around and showed everyone what he was holding in his hand.  A strange fire was resting two inches off of his palm, neither fading nor growing.  It appeared to be a self-contained flame in Azrael’s hand, but something about it seemed off—as though it was not complete.  Then it hit Ironwood.  This was the Fall Maiden’s soul.

After a long silence, Winter spoke up.  “How, Azrael?”

“I am an Undead.  I have a familiarity with souls, especially this one.  This is the soul of the Witch of Izalith, the Lord Soul of Chaos and Life.  It belongs with me, not raped into that poor girl’s body.”  Ozpin visibly cringed at Azrael’s choice of words, mostly because it was not an inaccurate description.  “I will watch over it until I find a way to dispose of it.”

“I can’t allow that to happen.”  Azrael’s gaze shifted to Glynda, who was finally getting up from the floor.  “We need the Maidens’ powers to help combat the Grimm.”

“And you shall have them.  But not like this.”

“Excuse me?”

“I cannot explain it all right now.  Just know that this,” Azrael held up the soul, “Is safer with me than with anyone else.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to.”  With that, Azrael walked out of the Vault, ignoring Ironwood’s and Glynda’s protests.

The mere existence of these souls on Remnant was a mystery, one that Azrael intended to unravel.  But he was not nearly well-versed enough in Remnant’s history or archaeology to find the answers on his own.  Azrael needed to talk with Dr. Oobleck—as far as Azrael knew, only Ozpin was better suited to providing information about Remnant’s ancient history, and Azrael was none too keen to spend any more time with the white-haired headmaster.

 _Hyperactive historian it is, then_.  Azrael grimaced.  He had sat in one exactly one of the doctor’s classes.  Thinking back to his own child-like handwriting, Azrael had been amazed by the speed at which Weiss was able to take notes, and Azrael knew from personal experience that the notes would be perfectly readable.

The Undead had avoided murdering Ironwood, Glynda, or Ozpin.  Somehow, the undead warrior knew that refraining from strangling his emerald-haired colleague would be an even greater challenge.

* * *

_For days, the fighting had raged outside the king’s castle.  One by one, the Forossan lines of defense had fallen to the relentless onslaught of the feral Undead, corralled into the kingdom by the enraged Gyrm.  A fitting revenge, Vengarl mused, for King Ricard’s treatment of the gentle dwarven race._

_And now, Vengarl was all that stood between Ricard and an endless swarm of crazed Undead.  His head pounded in time with the large double doors as dozens of improvised weapons and broken swords battered against it.  The Mad Knight braced himself for the upcoming battle, as pain burst between his eyes, bringing the 12-foot-tall menace to his knees.  He had been here before, he realized…long ago.  He could remember fighting—and dying—for his King._

_A thought drifted in Vengarl’s mind, forever out of reach, like a swirl of fluid on his cornea.  The harder Vengarl fought to seize it, the faster the memory fled from his grasp.  He looked at King Ricard, once glorious and radiant, now pathetic and shrunken on his throne.  The King had not even noticed his only remaining subject’s seizure as he stared out at nothing, looking for all the world like a child who had witnessed his parents’ violent death._

_Finally, something emerged from the muck of Vengarl’s mind.  His King’s aloofness to his own impending death had given the Mad Knight just the distraction he needed.  Just like a calming bath can give a researcher a moment of clarity, the shock of seeing King Ricard unaffected by the battle had allowed a name to bubble up from Vengarl’s subconscious mind. **Azrael, King of Drangleic.**   Just as the name crossed his mind, Vengarl passed out from the pain in his forehead._

_Vengarl opened his eyes, his dream slowly giving way to the reality of his situation._

_For days, the fighting had raged outside the king’s castle.  One by one, the Forossan lines of defense had fallen to the relentless onslaught of the feral Undead, corralled into the kingdom by the enraged Gyrm.  A fitting revenge, Vengarl mused, for King Ricard’s treatment of the gentle dwarven race._

* * *

Coco and Sun were exhausted as dawn filled the patient room they had both stayed in overnight, watching over Vengarl and the two survivors of Fort Alcova—Clayton Cherry and Susan Bates, the only remaining town guardsmen and the niece of the owner of the hotel Coco, Mercury, and Team SSSN had stayed in.

As Sun’s head started to bob up and down, sleep threatening to finally overtake the fatigued monkey Faunus, two of his teammates wandered into the room—Neptune Vasilias and Sage Ayana.  Sun and Coco’s watch was finished and they needed time to rest.  Without a word, the tired students dragged themselves out of the room, eager to return to their respective dorms after the failed mission.

Sage looked at Vengarl’s sleeping form.  The dark-skinned boy realized that he had never actually seen the enormous teacher without his trademark fur and armor on before.  He was surprised to find out that Vengarl’s massive bulk had very little to do with the size of his armor.  Despite wearing nothing but a hospital gown, the unconscious man dwarfed everyone else at the school, even Azrael and Yatsuhashi.

 _And yet that man handed Ven his ass on a silver platter…_ Sage remembered how Kirk had shown up, alone, and Vengarl jumped the massive fence whose construction he had spent so much effort overseeing.  The teacher ran out to meet the armored bastard, and Sage remembered seeing recognition mixed with confusion on Vengarl’s face as he had jumped the barrier.

They talked for several minutes, Vengarl’s stance getting tenser and tenser, and then they walked away from each other.  For a moment, it had seemed to Sage and the rest of the students that the confrontation was over, but then Kirk and Vengarl both drew their weapons—Kirk his knurled, spiked shortsword and shield with the same “decorations”, and Vengarl his massive scimitar and shortsword.

The ensuing duel left everyone watching completely speechless.  Vengarl dodged and spun faster than anyone his size had any right to.  Kirk ducked and weaved between Vengarl’s attacks, seemingly without any effort whatsoever.  Every time an attack looked like it was going to land, Kirk’s shield came up, stopping it cold and scratching the blade.  This went on for minutes, until Mercury spoke up.

“This guy’s playing with him.”  A loud scraping noise announced a blocked strike.

Sage looked over to the grey-haired youth.  “What are you talking about?  Vengarl is getting some damn good swings in.”  Another loud clang, another failed swing.  “Pretty soon the other guy will start to tire out.”

“He won’t.  It’s obvious these two know each other and Mister Edgelord over there is clearly more skilled.  Have you ever seen Vengarl even pant during class?”  Mercury had a point.  None of the teaching trio ever seemed to tire.

“So, what can we do to help him?”

“Nothing.  Vengarl is going to lose.  We just have to hope the guy isn’t interested in either the town or us.”  As if to illustrate Mercury’s point, Vengarl lunged forward, swinging with both swords, but Kirk easily rolled underneath the attack, ripping up the ground as he went.  Before Vengarl could recover, Kirk stabbed his sword deep into the larger Undead’s flank, tearing through fur, armor, and flesh, and leaving Vengarl’s side a bloody mess as the vile weapon dragged bits of gore and viscera out with it.  Vengarl winced slightly, but otherwise showed no reaction.

But first blood had been drawn.  Sage and Mercury stood there and watched Vengarl slow down as the fight dragged on and Kirk began hitting their teacher with quick jabs, further weakening the giant.  The fight was already over, and everyone—from the students watching in silence, to the horrified village guardsmen, to the combatants themselves—knew it.  Vengarl, on his knees and shaking with rage, threw his swords to the ground and struggled to his feet.  A hundred yards away, his six students, as well as the dozens of guards stationed along the wall, all heard Vengarl’s last four words.

“Just end it, Kirk.”

The smaller man obliged, dropping his shield and grasping his sword with both hands before driving it right through Vengarl’s chest.  A loud gasp went up from the entire unwilling audience, and Kirk violently ripped his sword out of the Forossan warrior’s torso, bringing chunks of gore with it.  Without waiting for a response, the Knight of Thorns turned around and left Vengarl bleeding to death in the dirt, as the fear and anger welling up from the guards and students called out to the Grimm, and hundreds of creatures began making their way towards Fort Alcova.

Sage felt shame overcome him as he remembered how he had completely frozen up as Coco, Sun, Neptune, Mercury, and Scarlet had all leapt from their spots on the wall and sprinted out to Vengarl, determined to save his life.  _Gods damn it, sir.  I’m sorry I didn’t try to help, I just…I just couldn’t move._  Sage had seen fully-fledged Huntsmen fight in tournaments before, but that was all very clean and proper.  Vengarl didn’t have Aura, and neither had this “Kirk” warrior.  Every attack bit through armor, blood was all over the field where they fought, and the grass around Vengarl’s slumped form was stained red as the teacher lay dying.  Even as Mercury dashed past Vengarl, eyes scanning for any Grimm, and Coco and Sun frantically raced to bandage the giant’s wounds, Sage stood there— _Like a damn moron_ , the boy thought to himself.  He stood there as Neptune and Scarlet called his name and begged for his help moving Vengarl, staring off into the distance without looking at anything.  He stood there as Mercury, Sun, Neptune, and Scarlet heaved Vengarl onto their shoulders and began to slowly move back into town.  Sage had stood there as Grimm started to descend on the village and Coco stood alone, mowing the monsters down by the hundreds with her minigun, screaming incoherently.  And Sage still stood there as the town guardsmen opened the gates for Vengarl.  In fact, Sage had kept standing there until a guardsman by the name of Clayton Cherry had shoved him out of the way, taking Sage’s place on the wall and opening fire on the Grimm.

No tears came to Sage’s eyes as he looked at the young guardsmen and the massive teacher, both equally unconscious, both severely wounded.  Instead, Sage felt a crushing weight settle on his chest.  Crunch time had come, and he had failed.  _If I had moved, maybe we could’ve gotten Ven inside the gates faster, maybe we could’ve closed them in time.  Now hundreds of people are dead and it’s all my fault._   Sage roughly ran his hands through his dark green hair, eyes squeezed tight as the young Huntsman-in-training felt the weight of responsibility and failure begin to crush him.

Across the room, Neptune was faring better, but not by much.  He looked at the young girl, Susan, and the blue-haired boy recalled how he had found her and her beloved uncle in the ruins of their family hotel, the same place he had slept in the night before.

 _“Uncle Norman, please don’t leave!  You just can’t leave! It’s gonna be okay Uncle!”_ There was a single dead Beowulf—a youngling, by the size—dissolving nearby, and Norman held a smoking shotgun in shaky hands.  His clothes were shredded and torn, and blood was gushing out from his torso and legs.  Neptune would’ve been impressed if he had had the spare space in his mind for anything but adrenaline.

But it was Norman’s face that Neptune would remember until the day he died.  It was the face of a man who knew his life was measured in hours, at best. _“Susan, go hide in the bathroom, Uncle Norman has something he needs to talk about with Neptune_.”  Norman’s eyes were nearly vacant, nothing in his mind left except the desire to protect his niece.  Neptune knew what had to happen.  Norman didn’t even bother asking, he just took a small gold ring with a large sapphire set in it from his hand.  His voice was ragged and labored.  _“Give this t-to Susan when she’s…”_ The man was interrupted by a wracking cough, what little blood remained in his body spraying out in time with the coughs.

 _“I understand.  I’ll make sure to give it to her.”_ Neptune had replied without realizing it, his brain on autopilot.  He switched his weapon from its halberd form into its rifle form and pressed the barrel to Norman’s forehead.  _“I’m sorry.”_   Neptune shook his head, trying to stop himself from reliving that gruesome scene for the hundredth time.  He looked across the room to see Sage staring at him, and the two partners silently commiserated in their trauma.

* * *

By morning, Azrael had returned to his dormitory, where he found Yang and Ruby, both still by Summer’s side.  The sisters looked at their teacher, curious about his outburst—and also why he was holding a stack of books as big as Ruby herself—but unwilling to broach the issue.

Keeping an eye on Summer, Azrael cracked open _Remnant, A History_ , and began reading.  As he struggled with the extremely dry writing style, Azrael thought about the shard of a Lord Soul in his possession, deeply concerned about its presence.  _If Izalith is here, then so too are Nito, Seath, and the Four Kings…and potentially others._   Even just one was problematic, but all four of them was an unmitigated disaster.

Another problem that concerned Azrael was his Darksign.  Something was interfering with it, and over the last several hours he felt it begin to dim as another strange feeling started to surface.  Azrael couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it felt like the Darksign was fighting some force in his body, and losing.  The strangest part of all was that while it was a concerning phenomenon, the feeling was not at all unpleasant—as though he was having years of dirt and grime wiped from his soul.

Nevertheless, the feeling was costing him his ability to sense other Undead, an unacceptable trade.

Rubbing his eyes as he attempted to parse a particularly hard sentence, and Azrael decided that he did not like this book.  It was bad enough that he had the reading ability of a ten-year-old, but whoever had decided the best way to reach students was by overloading them with words that contained no less than 12 letters and five syllables each deserved to burn in the deepest hells imaginable.  Azrael sighed.  There was nothing useful to him in here.  He needed information on civilization pre-Dust, and pre-Ozpin.  Nonetheless, there might be a hint buried somewhere in the archaic tome that tempted Azrael’s wrath and brought forth a great desire to invoke his pyromancy.  The Undead soldiered forward as Yang and Ruby eventually both fell into a troubled sleep.  As he finally finished the book, Azrael noticed Summer stirring slightly in her slumber.  Azrael decided he was jealous.  He didn’t need to sleep, but he still missed being able to do it.


	22. Team Dynamics

Weiss looked down at her desk in confusion.  “A Comprehensive History of Propaganda”?

The rest of the class seemed just as puzzled as the heiress.  Not only had Azrael retracted the class cancellation for half the class—allowing the six students who had gone to the doomed Fort Alcova, as well as Ruby and Yang, to rest—but he had apparently decided to focus the remainder of the semester on theory.  Theory that had nothing to do with combat or Aura.

“Yes, Weiss.  It is my job as your teacher to make sure that you are all prepared for the world outside Beacon, no matter what that entails.  Now, can anyone tell me the definition of propaganda?”  Three hands shot up.  Predictably, both Weiss and Pyrrha had raised their hands instantly, but much to Azrael’s surprise—although his face didn’t show it—so had Cardin Winchester.  “Mister Winchester, I have to say I’m impressed.  Go ahead.”

Ignoring the implied insult, the boy spoke confidently.  “Lies used by rebels like the White Fang to make the good guys look like asses.”

A hint of a frown appeared on Azrael’s face before disappearing quickly enough that only Weiss had managed to even notice it.  “Incorrect on three counts, although you did get the general gist correct.  Yes, propaganda is used to influence opinion...”  Looks of confusion greeted the teacher.  “But it is not just used by rebels, it is not just used to destroy public opinion, and it is not always lies.”  Still more confusion.  Azrael paused for a moment, before an idea caught on.  He gestured to Velvet, sitting next to Cardin.  “You and Miss Scarlatina have recently become romantically involved, have you not?”

If looks could kill, Cardin and Velvet would’ve slaughtered the whole room.  Azrael continued, seemingly oblivious.  “Yet, as recently as two months ago, I seem to recall an altercation between the two of you being reported, and it was in no way romantic.”  Cardin and Velvet’s angry gazes suddenly turned awkward, neither one willing to meet their teacher’s gaze.  “Mister Winchester, is it fair to say that at the beginning of the year, you were a racist?”

The silence that followed was so complete Weiss could have heard a spider breathing in the corner, had one been there.

Cardin looked up, his cheeks red—not from anger, but shame.  “Y-yes,” the young man choked out, clearly not happy with the reminder of his behavior before the mission with Lucatiel and Team JNPR.

Azrael nodded.  “How did these beliefs come about?”

Cardin thought for a moment.  “My mom died in a White Fang protest when it got attacked, back before they had started turning violent.  After that…my dad got pretty bad.  He would drink, he would hit me, and not much else.  He blamed the Fang, and so did I.  From there, it kind of just spiraled into hating the Faunus in general.”

“I see.  And did you do any research to reinforce your beliefs?”

“A bit.”  The boy was clearly uncomfortable recalling his past, but this was an important lesson.  “I found some articles and papers on the CCT net that said that Faunus were less intelligent and just naturally violent, since they had animal traits.”  Cardin stopped, letting his head fall into his hands.  Velvet held his arm, comforting him.  Azrael had also walked up to him, laying a large hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Mister Winchester, I understand how hard confronting your own faults can be.”  Azrael walked back to the front of the class and addressed the other students.  “I have seen some of this so-called research myself.  Ideas like these take hold, not because they are clever lies, but because they are half-truths.  As Velvet herself can no doubt tell you, Faunus have abilities reminiscent of animals.  Vastly improved hearing, near-perfect night vision, heightened sense of smell.  It varies from Faunus to Faunus.”  Azrael’s eyes darkened, a rumbling rage slowly building up in them, as his voice took on a hard edge.  “However, as I’m sure you all also know, the Faunus are not descended from animals, and they are not related to the Grimm.  They don’t have lower intelligence, they do not go through heat.”  At this point, Azrael paused, as if to stop himself from flying into a rage.

Collecting his thoughts, the Undead continued.  “This is exactly why I brought these books to class today.  The most important skill you will ever learn outside of combat is not math, or science, or even history.” _Despite what Doctor Oobleck might tell you_ , went the silent implication.  “It is the ability to recognize manipulations for what they are.  Do any of you really believe that the Grimm are pure evil?”

 _That_ got a reaction.

“Of course they are!” Weiss yelled.  “They do nothing but kill and kill!”

“Why do they kill, Weiss?”

“Because they’re evil.”

“You’re answering the wrong question.  They kill because they are driven to kill.  But what—or who—drives them to kill?”

Weiss cocked her head to the side, unable to answer.

“This is what I mean.  If you can’t see the forest for the trees, you will be easily manipulated by everyone around you.  Now, please, open your texts to Chapter 1.”

Weiss opened her book, but felt a strange thought bouncing around her mind.  Why had Azrael phrased his question that way?

What did he mean by “who”?

* * *

Cardin grumbled a protest, but nobody heard him.  Somehow, despite the fact that he had never once interacted with the girls outside of sparring with (and getting his ass kicked by) them, he had been shanghaied into carrying both Yang’s and Ruby’s textbooks to their dorms, only to find out from Weiss that they were in Azrael’s room.  He would never have volunteered, but his new girlfriend had looked at him with a pleading look in those big brown eyes of hers.  _Gods damn it, Velvet, that was just unfair._   Eyes that adorable could’ve been weaponized as far as Cardin was concerned.

Not to mention the fact that Azrael apparently stayed in the abandoned west dorms for some reason.  Even after nearly a semester of being his student, Cardin still couldn’t understand the man.  His habit of using last names to refer to his students was inconsistent at best, and he never let any emotions slip out of that intimidating face.  _Just what kind of weapon makes a curved scar that big, anyway?_

The young man shelved these thoughts as he finally reached the room, struggling for a few seconds to knock on the door while holding eight textbooks, before giving up and dropping the books, then knocking.

“Who is it?”  Cardin recognized Ruby’s voice from cafeteria conversations—not to mention the food fight.

Dear gods, the food fight.  The previous week, Team RWBY and Team JNPR had decided to turn the entire cafeteria into a damn warzone, destroying tables and terrorizing the rest of the student body in the process.  Cardin was fairly certain both he and Velvet still had turkey stains on their outfits somewhere.

Shaking away the horror of Weiss nearly impaling him with a giant swordfish, Cardin spoke.  “It’s Cardin.  Azrael gave us homework.”

The door swung open, and Cardin looked at Azrael’s room.  “Sparsely furnished” was a very kind way to put it.  There was a single twin-size bed that Cardin was positive Azrael had never once used, seeing as it was not destroyed, with a small wooden box in the corner and one window with no blinds or shutters.  The boy picked up the books he had been sent to deliver and moved them into the room.  As he passed the threshold, he noticed that the door seemed new, as if it had been replaced very recently, along with the door frame itself.  Raising an eyebrow got no response from Ruby other than a weary shrug—the girl looked like she hadn’t slept in a week.

“Yang, Cardin’s here.  We have homework from Azrael.”  Cardin looked over to the bed, where Yang Xiao Long was kneeling, and for the first time noticed a small body resting there.  Covered as it was with a white cloak, Cardin hadn’t even realized it was there, but then it clicked—this must have been Summer Rose.

Yang, for her part, appeared to be asleep, and appeared to be exerting great effort to keep that illusion up, but Ruby wasn’t having it.  “Yang, I know you’re awake, come on!  At least say thanks!”

“It’s fine, Ruby.  Let her rest.”  Cardin knew why the blonde brawler was pretending, even if Ruby didn’t.  The little reaper had a habit of seeing the best in everyone, so she had dropped any grudge against the former racist, but Yang had not.  Team JNPR and Velvet might’ve accepted his turnaround, but Team RWBY hadn’t been on that Bullhead ride, not to mention Coco was still watching him like an absolute hawk every time he and Velvet spent time together.  Cardin hated it, but he couldn’t blame them.

 _His_ team, on the other hand, had been absolutely fucking intolerable.  None of them had been there when Lucatiel had pounded the racism out of him, and none of them had made any effort to change.  Cardin had gotten into several fist fights with Dove and Sky in just two weeks.  Cardin was a lot of things, but a coward was not one of them…anymore, at least.  He refused to stand down when his supposed friends called him names, when they called Velvet even worse.  Things had come to a head when Russell had claimed Cardin just had “Rabbit Fever”.  Idiotic name aside, Russell was his partner—he might’ve been able to stomach the insults from Dove and Sky, but when Russell finally joined in, Cardin erupted.  He all but physically dragged the rest of CRDL into one of the combat rooms and fought all three of them at once.  Without the benefit of Azrael’s training, plus the fact that Cardin had been significantly stronger than any of them even at initiation, Cardin’s teammates didn’t stand a chance against the enraged bruiser.  It had been a slaughter, one that had only ended when Goodwitch arrived early for her next class.

Cardin might’ve nearly gone deaf from the chewing out they received from the blonde deputy headmistress, but it was worth it.  After Glynda had finished, Cardin spoke up quickly, so all three of his “team” could hear him, loudly and clearly.

“I want to request a team separation.”  To Glynda’s credit, she recovered quickly, albeit not quickly enough for Cardin to miss the look of utter shock on her face.  The other boys, however, were less subtle.

“WHAT THE FUCK, CARDIN?”  All three of them echoed in unison.  _Well look at that,_ Cardin mused, _maybe they can work together._

Glynda cleared her throat.  “And what would the reason for this request be, Mister Winchester?”

“Irreconcilable differences.” Cardin had done his homework.  He knew such a request would not be taken lightly.  Even just asking for the paperwork hadn’t happened at Beacon in years.  There were only two justifiable excuses for team separation: one team member assaulting another (physically or otherwise), or a complete and unfixable breakdown of teamwork.  In the long run, the latter was far more dangerous—assaulting a teammate could result in severe injury or mental issues, but a team that couldn’t work together?  That would get all of them killed in the field.

Glynda’s expression remained inscrutable as ever behind her trademark frown.  “I see.  Well, if you’re certain about this decision, I won’t stand in your way, but the Headmaster will ultimately have the final say.”  She went into her desk and withdrew a lengthy bundle of papers from the lowest drawer—the dust that kicked up from the inside of the drawer was not lost on Cardin.

“I understand, ma’am.”  Cardin took the forms, bowed his head, and left the office, ignoring his former team’s shouts—although he allowed a small grin when he heard the crack Goodwitch’s riding crop as it silenced them.

It took Cardin and Velvet almost three hours to complete the entire form, but it was worth the effort, and within three days, Team CRDL was officially disbanded.  Dove, Sky, and Russell had been silent, glaring daggers at their former leader as Yatsuhashi and Fox helped Cardin move his things out of their dorm and into the empty one next to Team CFVY.  Coco might not have liked it, but Yatsuhashi had seen the way he looked at Velvet, and the way Velvet looked at him.  Fox was blind, but he could hear the way Velvet’s voice perked up whenever she talked about Cardin.  It might not have been love, but neither Yatsuhashi nor Fox doubted that the two students cared for each other, and that was enough for them.

Cardin’s thoughts returned to the present as he left Azrael’s room.  He didn’t blame Yang for still hating him—or at least hating his guts—but Velvet had forgiven him for the bullying, and that was all that really mattered to Cardin.  Cardin returned to his room, a smile on his face…until he got there and remembered just how much reading Azrael had assigned them.

* * *

At the same time as Cardin was contemplating the end of his team, Azrael was talking to Team JNPR, and one member wasn’t taking it very well.

“I just don’t understand why, sir.”  Pyrrha was borderline distraught, but she hid it well.

“Miss Nikos, for the eighth time, this is not personal.  Jaune’s improvement has slowed down again.”  Team JNPR looked at each other.  They all knew Azrael was right.  Jaune had improved by leaps and bounds thanks to both Pyrrha’s and Azrael’s training, but in the last few weeks he had stagnated.

“We can change the practice routine, we can-” Azrael had had enough.

“STOP.”  His voice boomed throughout the classroom, cowing Pyrrha into silence.  “There is nothing more you can do to improve him.  You can either accept that fact, or remove yourself from my class entirely.”  Green eyes widened in shock at the threat.

It was Jaune who spoke up.  “What are you saying, sir?  I can’t get any better?”  He looked completely crushed by the realization.

“No.  I said Pyrrha has done all she can—as have I.  You have a substantial Aura and your defense is excellent, but your offensive fighting abilities have completely languished.  What you need is a new tutor.”  Four sets of eyes widened this time.  JNPR had assumed Azrael had simply demanded Jaune and Pyrrha stop their training altogether.

“Someone…else?  Are you sure, sir?”

“Absolutely, Mister Arc.  But first, I want you and Miss Nikos to do something.”  With that, Azrael grabbed two desks and shoved them together.  “I believe this is called ‘arm wrestling’, is it not?”

Jaune’s expression was almost comical.  “You want me and Pyrrha…to arm wrestle.”  It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.  Despite all your improvement, you still have almost no confidence until you are already in the heat of battle.  This will fix that.”  Azrael turned to the redhead.  “Pyrrha, do not hold back any of your strength.  I will know, and I will expel you from my class if you do.”

“But sir, what if I…”

“What if you hurt him?  You’re already doing that.”  Pyrrha blanched.  Before the question could be vocalized, Azrael pressed on.  “You coddle Mister Arc so much that it’s impossible for him to build up any confidence of his own.  Every time there’s an obstacle, he just has to wait, and lo and behold, you come in and remove it.”  Azrael turned to the blonde.  “Jaune, why did you become a Huntsman?”

The answer was immediate.  “I wanted adventure and glory, and if I can help people along the way, then why not?”  Azrael cringed in recognition, his thoughts returning to a time long past, and a friend long dead.

“Let me tell you a story, Team JNPR.  A story about a friend of mine, and the worst thing I’ve ever done.  His name was Siegmeyer.”  Tears formed on the edges of Azrael’s eyes, but he did not wipe them away.

“Siegmeyer was, in many ways, just like you, Jaune.  He was a strong knight, with a good heart and a gentle nature.  I met him in my travels, and it was the worst thing that could have ever happened to him.”  Confused looks.  “In order to complete my journey, I had to find a way through a fortress of traps, and this was where I met Siegmeyer.  We talked for a little while, and he told me of his quest to find adventure and glory.  However, he was not as physically fit as I was.  He was no slouch when it came to fighting, but dodging traps and outrunning the giant boulders that came from these traps was another matter.  Eventually, I disabled the boulders, the traps, all of it.  I was happy to help my newfound friend.  We went our separate ways, only to meet again in a large poison swamp.  Again, I helped him out, as I had an abundance of poison antidotes while he had none, and again we went our separate ways.

“As the months passed, our paths crossed several times, and I helped Siegmeyer out of several dire situations.  He proved himself to be an incredibly capable slayer of monsters, but had few other practical survival skills and was naturally something of a bumbler, so I was happy to step in when he needed.  Unfortunately, this pattern made him complacent, and I believe that a realization slowly settled in on Siegmeyer’s mind.  He needed me, but I didn’t need him.”  Seeing the looks on his students’ faces, Azrael continued.

“This was not the truth, but to a formerly self-reliant man like Siegmeyer, this sort of doubt easily crept into his mind and began to corrupt his thoughts.  Eventually we met again when he charged headlong into a den filled with monstrosities.  Seeing my friend in danger, I…” Tears were now flowing freely down Azrael’s face.  “I stepped in again, concerned that one of my only friends in that land was in mortal danger.  As it turned out, he did it to save me.  One of the monsters had been about to grab me and I was completely unaware, but Siegmeyer had seen it.  In the chaos, I had not heard his cries begging me to run and let him hold them off.  Together we slaughtered all five of those monsters, and I was excited.  But Siegmeyer was despondent.  From his point of view, I had just saved him one more time, but this time, it was in combat—the one thing he knew he was good at.  If I had to help him in a fight, then why should he have even bothered adventuring?

“We parted ways once more, and I wish had looked at him more closely, or perhaps listened to his words a little bit better.  A week later I found his body in the woods.  He had hung himself from one of the area’s stronger trees.”  A shocked gasp came from Pyrrha, and Nora’s hand had covered her mouth.  All four members of Team JNPR had tears in their eyes.  Azrael turned to Pyrrha.  “Miss Nikos, I know you mean well, but understand one thing.”  Azrael’s eyes had dried up as he leaned in close to her.  There was no malice in his voice or his eyes, only regret.

“People need a purpose, and if you rob them of that purpose, you have visited violence upon them.  Has he ever beaten you in a spar?”

“N-No sir.”

“Mister Arc, do you ever expect that you will beat Miss Nikos in a spar?”

“No.”  Pyrrha looked at her partner in shock.  _Does he really think that?_

“Then why bother training with her?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“That is exactly my point.  Miss Valkyrie, are you free tonight?”  Nora nearly did a double take.

“Are you serious, sir?  Why not someone more…why not Ren or Blake?”  _Why not someone weaker?_   Azrael read between the lines.

“Because he already knows how to fight fast fighters, Pyrrha has made absolutely sure of that.  But you’re strong, not fast.  I would have preferred Miss Xiao Long, but she and her sister are still watching over their mother.”  His gaze returned to Jaune and Pyrrha.  “But first, I believe I asked you two to arm wrestle.

“I still don’t see the point of this, sir.”

“Mister Arc, how much brute strength do you have?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you think you will win this contest with Pyrrha?”

“What? Of course not.”

“Well then, that settles it.  Miss Nikos, if you hold back, even for an instant, I will see to it that you will be expelled from Beacon.  Mister Arc, if you lose, _you_ will be expelled from Beacon.  You have ten seconds to start or you will both be expelled.”  Judging by Azrael’s clenched jaw, it was not an idle threat.  A thought occurred to the Undead.  “Actually, now that I think about it: Miss Nikos, if you hold back, I will not expel you, I will expel the rest of your team.  The same for you if you lose, Mister Arc.”

The pair quickly sat down.  Before Pyrrha could speak, Azrael cut in.  “Pyrrha, don’t you dare apologize to him.  Five seconds.  Four.  Three. Two-” Before Azrael could reach “One”, Pyrrha initiated the match.  Jaune nearly lost instantly, caught by surprise by the sudden start.  But when his hand was less than an inch away from the desk, Jaune’s instincts kicked in, and his arm started to force Pyrrha’s back.  It wasn’t fast, but Jaune steadily and inexorably started to force Pyrrha on the defensive.  No matter how hard Pyrrha tried, Jaune simply would not give.  Eventually their starting positions had been reversed, and a second later Jaune finally forced Pyrrha’s hand onto the desk, letting out a huge breath.

Azrael smiled.  “See?  You just needed the right impetus.  Jaune,” the blonde knight looked at Azrael, startled by the use of his first name.  “You are much stronger than Pyrrha, but you keep trying to imitate her fighting style, and it will never work.  To be honest, you might even be stronger than Miss Valkyrie.”

Nora scoffed at this, but her eyes showed a smidge of doubt.  Pyrrha spoke up.  “I-I think he’s right, Jaune.  I’m…I’m sorry.”

“Pyrrha, don’t say that, you were trying to help me, that’s just what friends do.”  Even Azrael nearly groaned at this.  How could he be so dense?  However, unlike Jaune’s team, Azrael was not a subtle person.

“Jaune, do you realize that Pyrrha has romantic feelings towards you?”  Again, that crushing silence.

“What?  No, that’s crazy.  We’re just best friends.”  Azrael was dumbfounded.  _If I could harness this sort of density I would never need titanite again._

Nora spoke up.  “Jauney…didn’t Pyrrha talk to you after the mission?”

“Yeah, but she was just saying that we were really special friends.  You know, best friends?”  _Oh god damn it, you stupid boy._   Thankfully, before Azrael could strangle his own student, Pyrrha reached across the desks and grabbed Jaune by the cheeks, her lips locking with his.

After the longest five seconds of Azrael’s entire life, the two parted, Jaune’s eyes wide, while Pyrrha looked completely glazed over in pleasure.  “Pyrrha, I had no idea…”

The amazon pulled herself out of her stupor.  “Jaune…you’re an idiot.”

Team JNPR all laughed, even Ren, and Nora turned to Azrael.  “Thank you for helping him, sir.  I’ll make sure not to go easy on Jauney!”

“I don’t even slightly doubt that, Miss Valkyrie.”

“Oh, and sir?”

“Yes?”

“Since you look so much younger than the other professors…are you taking somebody to the dance?”

Azrael’s eyes widened.  “Dance?”

Nora looked like she was heartily enjoying herself—or, more accurately, her teacher’s look of fear.  “You know, the dance!  Every year there’s a dance at the end of the first semester.”  Azrael looked like he had been hit by a battering ram.

There were many people and things Azrael hated.  Liars, manipulators, flying in a Bullhead.  But some things went beyond hatred.

_I.  Do Not.  Dance._


	23. Family Matters

Azrael watched from a rooftop as Jaune and Nora sparred, with an approving look on his face.  But inside, the Undead was less than pleased.  _What the hell came over me?_

Azrael was not one for strong emotions other than rage.  And yet, he had broken into tears while he was telling JNPR about Siegmeyer—a story he had told Weiss and Winter about without tears several times as they were growing up.  It was a sad story, for sure, but not enough to evoke this sort of reaction in him.

Azrael gave one last look at the students and went back inside, heading back to his isolated dormitory.  He was certain that whatever was happening to him, the invasive pleasant feeling that had been obscuring his Darksign was to blame.  It had grown stronger in the last several days, and it was beginning to look like that trend was going to continue—and the stronger the feeling grew, the more Azrael wanted to give in.

But Azrael was no novice, he would not let this defeat him.  He had laid entire armies at his feet, he had killed dragons and gods with only a sword in his hand.  He had died thousands of times, and waking up never got any easier, but Azrael had persevered.  This feeling was just another adversary.  _Or maybe it’s just the natural progression…_   Azrael stopped in his tracks.  Where had that thought come from?  As soon as he asked the question, Azrael already knew the answer.  Whatever this thing was, it had begun to seep into his mind.  Gritting his teeth, Azrael turned down another hallway and forced the thoughts out, as he nearly ran into someone.

Standing right in front of Azrael was the strange woman he had fought briefly on the train, but this time she had foregone the bone mask.  Although Azrael was still much taller than her, the woman was tall by Remnant’s standards, the top of her head nearly reaching Azrael’s chin.  Those same blood-red eyes that Azrael had seen looking out from underneath the mask now glared at him.  As the two warriors stared at each other, Azrael noticed something odd: this woman’s face was almost identical to Yang Xiao Long’s—and everything fell into place.  “Can I help you?”

“Where is she?”

“I’m not sure who ‘she’ is, but I have a strong feeling the answer is my dormitory.”

Red eyes squinted accusingly.  “Take me to her.”

“Why?”

“I deserve to see her.”

Azrael hated these sorts of pronoun games.  Time for a gamble.  “What makes you think Yang wants to see you?”  _That should simplify things._

“What? Why would I care what Yang wants?”

“Well, since it’s now obvious you’re here to see Summer, you should care because Yang is with her mother.”  Azrael wasn’t an idiot, he could read between the lines.  Yang and Ruby looked nothing alike, despite being sisters—different hair color, enormous height difference, different eyes—leaving only two possibilities: they were either adopted, or half-siblings.

If the woman was hurt by the words, neither her voice nor her face registered it.  “Yang is my daughter.”

“Not from where I’m standing.  I’m her teacher, and I took her and the rest of Team RWBY on a mission to Mountain Glenn.  If Summer wasn’t her mother, I would’ve heard about it by now.  Yang is not the subtlest of people, although somehow I doubt you’d know that.”

Finally, a frown creased the woman’s features.  “Remove Yang from the room.  I have to see Summer.”

Azrael laughed at this.  “I’d prefer to keep my head connected to my shoulders.  If you want to see Summer, you’ll have to see Yang too.”

“Bastard.”

“Perhaps.  But I care about my students.”  In lieu of a retort, the woman glared at Azrael and drew her sword.  She flicked it behind her, opening up a portal, just as she had on the train, before walking through it and leaving Beacon.

Azrael stood still for a moment, listening hard.  Elsewhere, he could hear a loud engine nearby.

While he had been busy with Yang’s apparent biological mother, a Bullhead had landed in the middle of Beacon’s courtyard, and a large blonde man had stepped out.  Taking a moment to bask in nostalgia, he set off for the first-year dorms, purpose filling his stride.

* * *

_Vengarl had no idea where he was.  The last thing he remembered was fighting alone against a horde of Undead—and now he was trapped underneath a crumbled pillar.  As Vengarl focused a bit more, a horrifying realization crept up on him.  He wasn’t trapped underneath anything—his head had been separated from his body._

_The battle must have spilled out into the courtyard, Vengarl realized.  As he tried to recall the fight, Vengarl noticed that he wasn’t angry.  His mind was clear and he felt none of the haze of battle that had afflicted him for so many years.  He could still feel his headless body, somewhere far away, lashing out at somebody, and Vengarl felt sorry for them—another new sensation for the Mad Knight of Forossa._

_Vengarl swiveled his eyes around, but a deep fog surrounded him, obscuring his vision even ten feet in front of him.  It was quiet here.  “Perhaps this won’t be so ba-” before he could finish the thought, Vengarl lost consciousness._

_Vengarl had no idea where he was.  The last thing he remembered was fighting alone against a horde of Undead—and now he was trapped underneath a crumbled pillar.  As Vengarl focused a bit more, a horrifying realization crept up on him.  He wasn’t trapped underneath anything—his head had been separated from his body._

* * *

“Who is it?”  A female voice that had no business being as chipper as it was at this time of night called out from behind the dormitory door.

The blonde man was in no mood for games.  “This is Connor Arc.  I am here to take Jaune home.  Now OPEN THIS DOOR!” His voice boomed throughout the entire dormitory, and several students in adjoining dorms had begun to poke their heads out from their rooms, groggily wiping the sleep from their eyes.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think he wants to go!”  The happy voice responded.

“Enough of this!”  The door almost buckled under Connor Arc’s fist.  He brought his fist back for a second blow.  Before it landed, however, a massive blue fist grabbed it.

“Excuse me, but why are you waking my students?” Azrael asked, his voice completely level.

“He is not a student, he is my son!”  Connor yelled at the interloper, his well-trimmed beard the only area of his face that had not turned scarlet in anger.

“I don’t see how those are exclusive.”

“He doesn’t belong here!”  Azrael’s eyes widened slightly as he understood.  Jaune had run away from home to attend Beacon.

“Let’s talk somewhere private.”

“No!  I am taking him home!”  A dagger flew up to Connor’s neck.  _Where was he even hiding that?_

“I would prefer to speak about this in private.”

Connor relented, his shoulders slumping in defeat.  “Fine, where is your classroom?”  Azrael was almost positive he heard Jaune fainting inside his room.

“Not my classroom, Professor Goodwitch’s.  It’s soundproof.”  Connor raised an eyebrow.  Azrael continued, “I don’t anticipate this conversation will remain at such a civil level.  I would prefer that whatever issue you have with your son’s enrollment remain between the three of us.”

“Fine, Goodwitch’s room then.”

The journey there was completely silent other than the soft footsteps of students who thought themselves stealthier than they actually were.  After ten minutes, the duo reached Goodwitch’s sparring room.  Azrael went in first and locked the door behind them and shoved a chair underneath the door.  “Now then, why do you want to take my student away from me?”  The two men had made their way down to the sparring circle.

“He doesn’t deserve to be here!”

“Why not?”

“He never attended combat school!  He’s not a Huntsman, he’ll get killed!”

“So he tricked his way in?  How exactly could he do that?  I’m afraid I’m a rather new staff member.”

“I don’t know, maybe he bought fake transcripts from somebody!  I don’t care how he got in, but I’m taking him back home!”  Azrael sighed.  He walked over to Glynda’s desk, hitting a button before jumping back into the sparring circle.  A glass dome went up around the pair.  “What the hell did you just do?”

“I turned on the fourth-year combat class protocol.  Neither of us can leave until one of our Auras drops below 5%.  And I don’t have Aura.”  Connor blanched.

“You…what?”  His voice had lowered to a normal level for the first time.  “You teach students at Beacon and you’ve never had your Aura unlocked?”  It was unheard of.  Most civilians didn’t have their Auras unlocked, even in the outer villages—after all, if you couldn’t fight, all an Aura would do is make sure you were still alive when the Grimm start to eat you—but a professor without one?  That was truly unusual.  A sneer crossed Arc’s face.  “What do you teach? Art?”

“Combat.  I’ll be glad to give you a lesson.” Azrael cringed internally as he imagined how Lucatiel would react to hearing that line.  _Laughter.  Lots of laughter.  Good thing she’s back in Drangleic._   Azrael heard a strange sound, then realized that Connor Arc had something in common with Lucatiel.

“That’s rich.  You’ve been watching too many movies.  And how do you expect to beat me without a weapon?”  Jaune’s father asked as he drew a large sword from his back.  It wasn’t quite as sharp as Crocea Mors, Azrael noticed.  _Ah, so that’s why he’s so mad._

“With this, of course.”  Azrael reached into his pocket and took out a stone ring with a large curved triangle indented into the face, and several small divots along the edge, then placed it on his right ring finger.  The Vanquisher’s Seal, ring of the Company of Champions, granted to Azrael by the Victor’s Stone of Majula—a small reward for facing the harshest challenges that Drangleic could throw at him.  Azrael could practically feel his fists turning into iron as the ring worked its magic on him.

More laughter came from Arc.  “You’re still bare-handed, a ring doesn’t change that.  Give up now.”

“Hardly.  I chose the fourth-year combat protocol because Professor Goodwitch doesn’t allow her fourth-years to end spars by submission, only defeat.  And since I don’t have an Aura, you’re going to have to kill me.”

The blonde man’s face hardened.  If this professor had expected this to cow Connor Arc, he would be disappointed.  He was bringing Jaune home, where he would be safe—no matter who he had to go through.  “So be it.  Before I kill you, I’d like a name for your tombstone.”

Azrael chuckled.  “I like you, Arc.  My name is Azrael, but I won’t need a tombstone.  If you do kill me, the body won’t be an issue.”  Azrael leapt forward, slamming his fist into Connor’s sword, and an enormous metallic peal rang throughout the dome.  The fight had begun.

As Connor backed off, shocked at the strength with which this “Azrael” hit his sword, he moved the blade into a defensive stance over his right shoulder, waiting for an opportunity to strike.  He didn’t have to wait long.  Azrael moved in for another strike, but Connor recognized a feint when he saw once.  Shifting his weight, Connor let the blow glance off his shoulder, taking a small chunk of his Aura, but used the opportunity to drive his sword directly into Azrael’s exposed flank.  Azrael’s trademark yellow robes were no match for the blow’s force, but the studded leather hauberk underneath them managed to deflect the blow—although Azrael felt two ribs crack.

“Impressive, but you may want to look at your scroll.”  Keeping one eye on his opponent, Connor took out his scroll and checked his Aura, nearly doing a double take.

Azrael’s glancing punch off of his shoulder had taken out more than half of Connor’s Aura.

“Who…what are you?”

“Sorry, that’s a secret.”  Azrael charged again, but this time Connor deflected both his fists, moving as fast as he could to slice at Azrael’s hands.  Both parries connected, but Azrael’s metal gauntlets prevented any loss of limb.  Connor was completely outclassed, and he needed to end this fight, fast.  Gathering all of his strength, Connor Arc hefted his sword above his head and brought it down with earthshaking force.  Azrael didn’t bother dodging.

Instead, the Undead warrior placed his hand along the blade and pulled, throwing Arc off balance.  Before Connor could recover, Azrael drove his fist into the blonde’s abdomen, completely depleting his Aura and ending the fight.

Connor fell to his hands and knees, cursing under his breath.  How could somebody without any Aura possibly be so strong?  He looked no older than a fresh huntsman, but he fought with the self-assured ease of a practiced veteran.  Nonetheless, Arc thought as the dome opened, he had a duty to his family to uphold.

“Fine, I yield.  But I want to talk to Jaune.”

“That is fine, but I have a field report for you to read first.”  Azrael handed Connor his scroll, where he had pulled up the notes from Team JNPR’s mission debriefing.  Connor’s eyes scanned the memo, his expression stern as he handed it back to Azrael and they began to walk back to Team JNPR’s dorm.

“Beacon sent them out against a herd of fucking Behemoths.”

“Not Beacon.  Me.  I would not have sent them, nor would I have sent Lucatiel, if I felt they couldn’t handle it.  In case you missed it, Jaune killed one of them.”

“I saw that.  I also know that teenagers are wont to fudge the truth.”

“There were no lies in that report, Arc.  I believe them unreservedly.”  The pair had reached their destination.  Azrael knocked on the door.  “Nora, please open the door, I don’t want to have to break it down.”

“Of course, Professor!  Why didn’t you guys just ask nicely the first time?”  Connor’s right eye twitched as the door was unlocked and opened.  Azrael walked into the room, where Jaune was still lying on the floor.

“Mister Arc, please get up.  Your father and I were just…discussing the terms of your enrollment at Beacon.”  The young man’s face went pale as he scrambled to his feet and turned to look at his father.

“Hello, Jaune.  Your mother has been worried sick about you.”

“I-I’m sorry I haven’t called home.”

“What about stealing my sword?”  Pyrrha and Nora’s eyes widened while Ren sighed quietly.  Azrael didn’t react.

“Yeah…that too.”

“I’ll be honest with you Jaune, I was shocked that you had the balls to take Crocea Mors from me.  More shocked when I found out today that you had snuck into Beacon.  But the biggest shock so far has been that you’re okay.”  Looks of confusion came from all four members of Team JNPR.  “Jaune, your mother, your sisters, and I were all terrified when you left.  You didn’t leave a note, you didn’t call, we had no idea where you had gone.  If Professor Port hadn’t called me to chat yesterday we still would have assumed you were dead.  Son, we had a gravestone made.”  Connor’s eyes darkened.  “But after talking with your professor-”

“Teacher, not professor,” Azrael chimed in.

“Yes…of course.  After talking with your teacher, who personally vouched for your abilities, I have decided I will let you stay at Beacon,” Jaune’s shoulders slumped in relief so quickly that Pyrrha thought they might hit the floor.  But Connor continued, “but not with my sword.  I am taking Crocea Mors home with me.”  Jaune’s expression sank.

“How can I fight without a sword or shield?”

Once again, Azrael spoke up.  “I will be providing you one from my personal effects.”  All five people in the room stared at him.  “Connor, I believe our business is concluded.  Please leave Beacon.  Team JNPR, come with me.”  The elder Arc nodded, grabbed Crocea Mors from Jaune’s closet, and left without another word.  Azrael started walking towards his classroom with JNPR in tow.  Jaune had a cautious expression on his face, unsure what to expect.  Pyrrha simply stared at her new boyfriend, amazed that he didn’t realize how much of a risk Azrael had taken—unlike the others, Pyrrha noticed that both Azrael and Connor were walking with almost imperceptible limps.  Ren was his usual taciturn self, and Nora…was Nora.

“Oh Jaune, you’re so lucky!  I can’t believe you’re going to get one of his weapons!  I wonder if it’ll be a hammer—wait, Azrael said he was giving you a sword…WHAT IF IT’S A HAMMER SWORD?”

Azrael decided to step in before everyone else went deaf.  “Miss Valkyrie, please stop.  We’re almost there.  And it’s not a hammer sword…how would that even work?”

“You could have a quick sword for fighting little guys, but carry a big stone block on your back, then when you run into like an Ursa or a Deathstalker, you shove the sword into the block, and BOOM! HAMMERTIME!”  Nora had ended her monologue with a pose Azrael couldn’t quite interpret.

“Impractical.  Either way, we’re here.  Team JNPR, wait here.”  As Azrael disappeared into the room, Jaune’s face was frozen in what seemed to be a mix of fear and excitement.  Pyrrha and Ren had small smiles on their faces, while Nora was quite literally bouncing in place, her face glowing with barely-restrained glee.

Several minutes later, Azrael returned, holding a sword and shield.  The weapons looked somewhat basic, but upon close inspection, revealed quite a bit about themselves.  He handed them over to Jaune, an unreadable expression on his scarred face.

Jaune’s new sword was a simple straight sword, about three feet in length, with an ornately carved hilt and a gem set into the cross guard.  Pyrrha looked closely at it and noticed that it was razor sharp, even sharper than her own sword Miló, and there was a strange calm around the sword.  Pyrrha could tell there was more to this blade than met the eye, but she did not question it.  Instead, she looked at Jaune’s new shield.

It was a kite shield, reinforced at the corners with brass, and had a gold-embossed symbol in the center.  The symbol had leafy branches surrounding what looked like an ornate family crest in the middle.  After a minute, Azrael spoke.

“I present to you, Jaune Arc, the Sunlight Straight Sword and the Astoran Crest Shield.  They belonged to two good friends of mine, who are unfortunately both long since passed.  The sword has been blessed and will cut through any foe, while the shield will defend not only against physical attacks, but against Dust-enhanced weaponry as well.”  Pyrrha stood in awe of the equipment.  She knew that Jaune had said Crocea Mors was an heirloom, but this…there was a significant difference between an heirloom and an antique, and never was that fact clearer than it was at that moment.  Jaune had clearly noticed it too, as his eyes were filled with pride as he looked at the new weapon— _his_ new weapon.  Azrael spoke once again.  “Jaune, I want you to know, the owners of these weapons would be ecstatic to see them granted to a young man as worthy as you.”

“Profe—Azrael, I…I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything.  It’s late and you have Professor Port in the morning, do you not?”  Team JNPR’s mood came crashing down like a guillotine.  “You should probably catch some sleep.”

As Team JNPR left to try and rest up for Port’s inevitable long-winded lecture, Azrael watched them leave.  _Oscar, Solaire…I hope I was right._


	24. Awakenings

"Sir, how are we going to deal with him?" Green eyes glared at the back of Ozpin's head. Glynda could see his face in the newly replaced window's reflection, the expression upon it as irritatingly stoic as always.

"For the moment…nothing, Glynda. I do not believe Azrael is our enemy, not quite yet."

"He killed Amber! He jeopardized the safety of the school, of Vale itself!"

"I don't believe he did." Ozpin turned to face her. "Glynda, do you doubt the truth of anything Azrael said?"

The disciplinarian's brow furrowed. "No, in all honesty. I don't doubt him for a second, and that's what scares me. How can we trust him to stay on our side?"

"We can't…but we can trust Azrael to stay on Miss Schnee's side." A blonde eyebrow was raised questioningly. "Azrael spent almost a decade tutoring and watching over Weiss and Winter. Whatever his reasons, he cares for the two Schnee daughters."

"What? How did he remain undetected by us?"

"It seems likely to me that Jacques kept Azrael's existence a secret in order to protect the SDC from any potential damage he might have created. James, on the other hand…" Ozpin didn't have to finish the thought. Glynda cared for the general, but James Ironwood was not an overly trusting man. It would be just like him to keep such a powerful weapon as a secret.

"And what of the youngest, Whitley? Wouldn't he care about him as well?"

"From what I have found, no, he doesn't I'm not sure what made Whitley unimportant, perhaps Azrael simply didn't care for the boy's personality. But that's not important. Whitley isn't at Beacon. Weiss is, and so is our colleague."

"Am I expected to simply sit on my hands until he attacks another faculty member, then?"

"I don't expect him to at all. If my information is correct, Azrael has met with Doctor Oobleck to learn about ancient Remnant archaeology. If he wanted to hurt us, he could have overpowered and killed the good doctor then, while the two of them were isolated in an office." As distasteful as the thought was, it made sense to Glynda. Azrael had managed to hold off Ozpin, Ironwood, and herself without any weapons— _not just hold off, it was almost like he was toying with us—_ so Oobleck would not have posed even a slight challenge if Azrael had a weapon on him. Ozpin continued, "Glynda, while I find his methods extremely distasteful, we must remember the sort of life Azrael has lived: a very violent one, and a very long one. If his estimate of time is correct, he has lived for over 15,000 years. Not to mention, he has personal experience with the powers I used to create the Maidens. Azrael has context the rest of us lack."

"So…we're going along with this?" Glynda could hardly believe her ears. She had known Ozpin almost her entire life, and he had never stood by when injustice occurred.

Ozpin seemed to sense her concern. He put down his coffee cup. "For the moment, yes. There will be a reckoning, but right now, I believe there is no safer place in all of Remnant for the second half of the Fall Maiden's soul than on Azrael's person."

Glynda hesitated for a split second before nodding. Ozpin had never steered them wrong before…she would trust him.

"Oh, and one more thing, Glynda. Please inform Azrael that I would like for him to attend the end-of-term dance as one of the chaperones."

An exasperated, over-worked, and most likely underpaid sigh was the only response.

* * *

_Vengarl looked around. An arena filled with ashes, Lucatiel to his left. In front of them were two massive warriors. Vengarl had spent enough time as a head to know how to listen, and he had heard these fighters' names before. Watcher. Defender. The larger of the two fighters went towards Lucatiel, its shield raised. Vengarl dropped his own shield to the ground, pulling out his scimitar instead. He would need all the offense he could muster._

_Bearing down on him was a ten-foot-tall woman, clad in strange white armor, accented with flowing white robes. Her sword was long, razor-sharp, and crackling with blue energy. Vengarl's swords were heavier, thicker affairs. True to their name, the Red Rust Sword and Red Rust Scimitar were less swords and more four-foot chunks of hard iron, sharpened and forged into killing instruments. Every single man in Forossa had, at one point, attempted to lift the swords and claim them as their own. Every single man in Forossa had failed. Except for…_

Gods damn it, there it was again! _A name had been floating on Vengarl's mind again. Before he could seize it, a sword had impaled his wrist. Vengarl looked up and saw the Throne Defender, her robes now stained with blood._ But…wasn't this one the Watcher? _Vengarl could barely remember. He had been assailed constantly by false memories, places he'd never been, lives he'd never lived. An albino spiderwoman, a small fortified town in a canyon, he'd even remembered losing his body to defend a king he knew had never existed. But Vengarl KNEW he had died when the Lion Knights assaulted Tseldora, the same night he had abandoned his post. Pulling the blade from his arm, he decapitated the Throne Watcher, or Defender, he wasn't sure which. It didn't really matter anymore. He had remembered the name._

Coco fell out of her chair when Vengarl woke up screaming Azrael's name. A murderous glare was the only thing that prevented a snide comment from Sun as the Faunus helped her up. The two students turned to their teacher, who had leapt out of bed and was looking around wildly, attempting to get his bearings. He was also, as Coco discovered, almost nude, save for a medical gown that offered…insufficient cover, to put it politely.

"Sir…you're not wearing pants." Sun was no help, suddenly interested as he was with the patterns in the ceiling—the blank white ceiling.

The warrior looked at Coco, still completely disoriented. After several seconds of silence, Vengarl's face returned to its normal taciturn state. He reached for his pants, which a nurse had left on the bedside table. Quickly making himself decent, Vengarl apologized to Coco and Sun, and left without another word, or even a shirt. Azrael needed to know that Kirk had appeared.

Vengarl made it three steps out the door before his still healing injuries caught up to him.

* * *

"No."

"No?"

"No. I'm not dancing."

Glynda sighed. Standing in the library, arguing with a colleague she neither liked not trusted, trying to get him to chaperone a dance. She was definitely underpaid. "It's not a request. All faculty members will attend the dance. You won't even have to dance, you'll be a chaperone."

"Stronger wills than yours have failed to make me do less. Don't push this, Miss Goodwitch."

"Believe me, I don't want to, but the Headmaster is insistent that you attend. He wouldn't ask if it wasn't important." The exasperated look in Glynda's eyes set Azrael at ease. He had seen that look a million times on Lucatiel's face.

Finally, he relented. "I will go. But I will not dance."

"Thank you, Azrael. It will be formal wear, so none of…whatever this is." Glynda gave a noncommittal gesture to Azrael's usual armor before she left Azrael to his own musings.

" _None of whatever this is?"_ Looking at his ragged yellow robe and leather hauberk, Azrael smiled. Glynda had essentially issued him a challenge… _don't look like shit._ And Azrael didn't back down from a challenge.

He would have to cut an even more impressive figure than usual, and Azrael had just the outfit in mind.

Azrael grinned to himself as he walked down the corridor and reached his room. Maybe this dance wouldn't be quite so bad. Azrael opened the door and stopped just short of the threshold. Three people were standing in his room, and the bed was empty.

Summer had finally woken up.

* * *

"My dear Headmaster, you misunderstand. This isn't anything untoward. We are simply four students, who wish to join Shade Academy a little later than usual." Headmaster Stewart Chase, the leader of Vacuo's Huntsman Academy, shivered in his chair. It wasn't cold, per se—Vacuo never was—but the curved steel blade that was currently being pressed against his windpipe was. The unfortunate administrator had been completing some paperwork in preparation for some of the students traveling to Vale in advance of the Vytal Festival when suddenly four armored men burst into his office and tackled him to the ground. Chase was no slouch in combat. _At least, not as much as that whelp Lionheart_ , thought the annoyed headmaster, but these men had caught him unawares, without a weapon, and completely blindsided him.

The man in gold armor had removed his helmet, revealing a blonde head of hair sitting atop an unpleasantly sharp face. Chase relaxed slightly. The man had a point…if they were going to kill him, wouldn't they have already done it?

"You're all much too old to be students here. How would I explain it?"

"I don't particularly care. Transfers from Atlas or Haven, perhaps. All that matters is that we travel to the Vytal Festival."

"Why do you care so much about that?"

"Let's just say that I have recently come under new employment, and this employer would very much like for me to attend. And, of course, if I don't, Shade Academy's illustrious Headmaster Stewart Chase might meet an unfortunate end…heh heh heh." The man's laugh chilled Chase to the bone. It was a cruel sound that spoke of untold horrors committed in its wake. _There's not much I can do here…if they kill me, the Queen will likely find a pawn to take my place_. Stewart Chase wasn't the smartest of men, but he knew how this game was played.

He just wasn't very good at it.

"Fine, you'll be enrolled and sent to Vale next semester for the Festival. But I'll need a Team name."

"Ah yes…that. We've already got one. Honestly, what is with you people and your colors?"

"Just tell me the damn name and get out of my office."

"Team SLMN."

"Salamander? That's not a color."

"It's close enough. I'm sure you know how hard it is to make these asinine names." It was true. Chase and his faculty spent several nights each new school year sweating over potential teams, always cursing applicants with two initials of the same letter. "Oh, and we'll need lodging for eight, away from prying eyes. We have a few less-than-agreeable friends staying with us."

"It'll be done. Now get the fuck out of my office." Lautrec lowered his blade before grabbing Chase by both arms, holding him up as a gauntleted fist silenced the administrator.

"Well, you certainly don't lack for spirit, even if your brain seems a tad vacant," Shiva said as the group left Chase's office and the unconscious headmaster.

* * *

Summer still hadn't spoken. She hadn't needed to. Yang and Ruby didn't need to hear any words to know that their mom was back. The three women had simply hugged each other and cried for over an hour before Azrael arrived.

"Ahem." Six eyes glared at the Undead. "I see you're awake. Now, I hate to cut the reunion short, but Yang and Ruby have homework, and you," Azrael pointed at Summer, "and I need to talk." Realization washed over Summer. She turned to Yang.

"He's right, honey. Please, we can catch up later. Take your sister and go do your homework." Yang, shocked from hearing Summer's voice for the first time since she was a small child, immediately obeyed, picking up the mountain of textbooks Cardin had left them and took Ruby to their dorm. Azrael closed the door behind his students, and Summer looked at him expectantly. "Where the hell am I, who the hell are you, and what the HELL happened to me?"

"How much do you remember?"

Summer furrowed her brow in thought. "I was escorting a trade caravan through northern Vale. Qrow was off doing whatever it is he did for Ozpin, and Tai was home, watching the girls. The caravan was attacked by…by a dragon."

Azrael's blood ran cold—or it would have, if he still needed it. "Describe it. Now."

"It-it was absolutely enormous, and black all over." _Oh, for fuck's sake no...not HIM._

"What about its face?"

"I don't really remember much, but…" Summer rubbed her forehead. "Ah! Now I remember. It was definitely a Grimm. It had a giant armor plate on its face, but its mouth was the most disgusting thing…the mouth ran all the way to halfway down its neck."

Azrael sighed in relief. Summer looked at him questioningly. "Don't worry about me. Yang and Ruby can fill you in on the details about me—just mention the name Gwyn and they'll understand. But you had questions. You're in a dormitory at Beacon Academy. I am a combat instructor at Beacon with only a single class that runs parallel to Professor Goodwitch's. As for what happened to you, sit down." Azrael gestured to the lone bed, and Summer sat down.

"You've been presumed dead for the last eight years. I don't know how, but that dragon must have captured you and put you under the Grimm's sway." Summer recoiled in horror, and as she did so, she noticed her hands for the first time…the skin was as white as snow. She nearly ran out of the room, but Azrael caught her. "Calm down. There's no trace of the Grimm left in you, I made sure of that—although I have to say, you pack a mean hit."

"I-I don't understand. What has happened to me? What happened to my skin? What did I do to you?"

"I can answer only one of those. You attacked me in a courtyard in Vale. I was going to simply kill you, but Ruby arrived and saw you. The distraction allowed you to stab me in the chest, and I used that to hold you in place while I excised the Grimm's influence from you." Azrael wasn't sure how much Summer knew about Salem, and felt it best not to reveal anything, although the deception left a bad taste in his mouth.

"But…my skin."

"What of it?"

"It's not nor-" The comment died away as Summer noticed her savior's skin color—a light blue tone, marred by the white scar across his face. _Just who is this guy?_ "How do you deal with it?"

"My skin? It's not exactly uncommon where I'm from."

"And where is that?"

"The Great Swamp." Azrael's tone made it clear no more information would be forthcoming.

"Okay, so…wait a second, if it's been eight years, why is Ruby at Beacon?"

"She stopped a robbery. Apparently, she impressed Ozpin enough to get in two years early." Summer smiled. _That's my Ruby alright, always helping._

"I'm not surprised at all. But how did you get a job here? You're barely past school age yourself."

"Do not presume to know me."

"Ooh, mysterious. Well don't worry, I have ways of finding these things out." _Did she just…wink at me? Well, I suppose Yang had to get it from somewhere._

"Duly noted. Anything else?" Azrael stared impatiently, and Summer's confidence broke as she stammered out a response.

"I-I'm sorry, I just don't really know what else to ask, this is a lot to take in."

"I see. As it is, I have no more questions for you. Here's my Scroll, it has my students' dorm rooms in it. Go spend some time with your daughters, I'm sure they'll be happy for it." Azrael handed the device over and watched Summer leave. _Maybe now I can get some peace and quiet,_ the warrior thought as he reached into his bottomless box, preparing his outfit for the dance. Azrael wasn't entirely sure why impressing Glynda was so important to him, but it hardly mattered.

As much as Azrael hated flaunting his titles, and there were quite a few, he was technically a monarch—a warrior-king of sorts. And he would make sure to dress the part.

* * *

Coco had to try hard to hold back her laughter as she and Sun picked Vengarl up off the hallway floor. She began to reassure her teacher as the students hefted him back onto the protesting medical cot. "Don't worry, sir. When we arrived, you said 'Kirk' to Azrael. I'm sure he knows what it means."

Vengarl's head slumped in relief. "That's good. Coco, what have they been doing to me while I was unconscious?" He felt far more sluggish than he ought to be and wanted an explanation.

"Well, the first night you struggled a lot in your sleep, so they put you on a massive dose of sedatives. To be honest, I'm surprised you can even walk."

"I'm not. I've always been rather…resistant to medicines. My body built up a tolerance to poisons a long time ago." _It doesn't hurt that I spent most of that time as a disembodied head either._

Sun chimed in, "Okay…that's good to know. Anyway, sir, before you fought him, you said something to that guy."

"I did, Sun. And I hope you would not be naïve enough to think I will share it with you.

"What? Of course not." Sun lied, convincing no one. "I was just wondering…who he is?"

Vengarl raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure you were. His name is Kirk, the Knight of Thorns. He is an…acquaintance of Azrael's from before my time."

"Why would he attack if he's a friend?"

Vengarl's face darkened. "I didn't say friend. I don't know all the details, but I do know their relationship is…complicated at the best of times. Although him attacking like that…I'm as in the dark as you two are."

"Then what can we do about him?" Coco asked.

"We wait, and hope that Lucatiel and Azrael are around the next time." Coco and Sun looked at each other worriedly. The news of what had happened to the blonde swordswoman had spread across the school already. "What is it?"

"Sir…we have bad news."

* * *

Several days passed, and finally the day of the dance had arrived. With Coco having been out on her mission with Vengarl, the planning for the dance fell to Velvet, who had convinced Weiss and Blake to help out.

The main foyer of Beacon had been turned into a dance hall, with a pair of DJs in front, a space cleared out for students, and tables on each side, covered with doilies. Glynda walked into the hall alongside Ozpin, her looking radiant in a long white dress, him somehow still wearing his usual green jacket. Team CFVY, Weiss, and Blake were already waiting for the rest of the students, all of them looking great in their tuxedos and dresses. Soon, the rest of the students started to fill in and immediately started standing around as the slow music did nothing to overcome teenage awkwardness.

Glynda turned to her boss. "Where is Miss Xiao Long?"

"She declined to attend. As I understand it, she is spending the night with Summer."  Glynda nodded in understanding. As curious as she was, Summer had still declined to speak with any of the staff… _Except for Azrael_ , thought Glynda with an internal scowl. "That reminds me, where is our…colleague, exactly?"

The scowl went from internal to external. "I don't know. Perhaps he decided we weren't worth hi-" the words died on her tongue as Azrael strode into the dance, and everyone went silent.

Azrael wore a gleaming suit of armor. The hauberk was made from gleaming steel, with a leather strap wrapped diagonally across it but lacking in any carved ornamentation. The shoulder pads were steel as well, but unlike the chest plate, they had an intricate pattern on them, hidden by a white fur wrapped across Azrael's shoulders and back. Beneath the hauberk was a teal shirt that came up to Azrael's neck and peeked out from the bottom of the armor, and beneath that could just barely be seen a shirt made of chainmail. Wide straps of blue-dyed leather went down Azrael's legs, and he wore brown leather pants and light brown boots. The metal pieces of Azrael's outfit should have been covered in scars gathered from hundreds of battles, but they shone brilliantly, even in the relatively low light of the dance hall.

Glynda was shocked into silence as her eye started to twitch. Beside her, however, Ozpin made an impressed grunt. She turned to the headmaster. "You're actually okay with this? He showed up looking like he's ready to slaughter the entire school."

"Exactly, Glynda. Azrael is a man who has known nothing but war. As such, I am not even slightly surprised at his choice of 'formal wear'. I would wager that he has not worn this particular armor in many years. Look at the steel a little more closely." Glynda did, and saw nothing. Ozpin sipped at a mug of coffee that had seemed to materialize in his hands. "I can see clear evidence of many, many battles etched upon them. Azrael must have polished them off, likely very recently." Understanding finally dawned in Glynda. To Azrael, there was probably no piece of clothing more important than this armor. The Undead finally reached his fellow teacher.

"Hello, Miss Goodwitch."

"Please, tonight it's just Glynda."

"Alright then…Glynda. You look well."

"Thank you, Azrael.  Might I ask about your...outfit?"

"It's called the Faraam Armor.  It once belonged to the mightiest warriors of Forossa, but now, this is the only full set in existence."

The Undead nodded and wandered off, completely ignoring Ozpin's presence. Glynda watched Azrael walk over to the corner of the room, where Weiss was standing alone, clearly nervous. The two sat down in nearby chairs and began to talk. Glynda looked away and noticed Team SSSN and Team JNPR had entered the hall as well, with an uncomfortable-looking Ruby in tow. All the students had arrived and the dance could begin.

"Excuse me, may I have this dance?" A hand reached out to Glynda, and her eyes traveled up the gloved arm to James Ironwood, who had arrived with Winter, Penny, and two uniformed soldiers.

"I'm sorry, but I was busy talking business with Ozp-" Glynda gestured to her side, only to find that the headmaster had completely vanished. _I will punish you for this, Ozpin._ "I guess my schedule just cleared up, James," she remarked with resignation as she took the hand.

* * *

"I'm glad you came over here, Azrael. It's been difficult right now."

"I can imagine, Weiss. But now that Summer is awake, Ruby and Yang will be able to feed themselves."

"That's true. And honestly, I like Summer, but it's just that, well, I like Blake, but she's not a good replacement for Ruby. Annoying as I find my leader, she's still a good person, and her energy is a bit infectious. But mostly…I miss you, Azrael."

"Hmm?"

"Remember, back in Atlas? You would tell me and Winter stories every night. I miss that."

"You know all my stories, Weiss. Probably better than I do at this point."

"Yes, but still…you're a better storyteller than my brain is."

"I'm honored, but Weiss, you're not a child anymore. You're almost a grown woman, you're a Huntress-in-training…" Azrael laid a hand on Weiss's shoulder as she looked away, blushing. Once she looked back at her mentor, he continued. "Weiss, I want you to know, because heaven knows Jacques would never say it, and Winter's back in Atlas for the moment: I'm proud of you." Tears welled up in Weiss's eyes, enough to make her miss Azrael wiping a few from his own eyes. Suddenly, Weiss lunged at him, hugging him tightly.

"Thank you," Weiss whispered in Azrael's ear.

"Of course, my little Snowflake. You can always talk to me if you need to."

The moment was interrupted by a loud explosion outside. Azrael let go of Weiss and ran outside. The heiress sighed. _Well, it was nice while it lasted._

* * *

Vengarl could barely breathe. He had intended to at least make an appearance at this "dance" Coco had mentioned earlier that day—to hell with doctor's orders, Vengarl had a duty to his commander—but as he reached the outside of the dance hall, he noticed Ruby following somebody into the nearby CCT office. There were several still bodies on the ground outside the hall.

Groaning, Vengarl jogged up to Ruby, laying a hand on her shoulder. The reaper instinctively slashed at the giant warrior, but managed to change the angle before she decapitated her teacher. Before she could start apologizing, a hand slammed over her mouth. Vengarl began whispering. "Ruby, whoever did this must still be in the building. Come with me, we can deal with him." Ruby nodded frantically. "Good. Now stay quiet and stay low." To her credit, Ruby made it four steps before she tripped over her heels.

"Stupid lady stilts." Vengarl shook his head. They entered the building and found more bodies. Vengarl decided to split up.

"Ruby, keep checking this floor, room by room. I'm going to the elevator." _No sense putting her in danger._ Vengarl had already deduced that their mystery assailant was headed to the main computer access point on the top floor."

The elevator shuddered as it struggled to carry Vengarl's significant bulk. _Perhaps I shouldn't have worn the full armor…_ That thought was immediately dispersed as the elevator opened and several shards of sharpened glass flew at Vengarl, embedding themselves in his furs. He dove forward, ignoring the blood spurting from his abdomen as his stitches burst from the sudden movement.

Flames chased Vengarl, smoke obscuring his vision, as he moved behind one of the tables. He reached into his armor and pulled out his Red Rust Sword. Even injured, he did not go anywhere completely unarmed. Azrael might have the skill, but Vengarl was not a finesse fighter. Vengarl mantled over the table and charged through the smoke, unable to see anything but the outline of his target. As he reached her, swinging his massive sword, Vengarl was reminded of how much he hated nimble fighters. The woman easily dodged and ducked Vengarl's slashes, hitting him with small burst of fire each time. Vengarl changed tacks, moving his sword from the two-handed grip into his right hand and punching the woman in the gut with his left.

Vengarl might not have been as talented a fighter as either Azrael, Kirk, or Lucatiel, but he was almost as strong as all three combined. The punch annihilated the woman's Aura and doubled her over in pain. As Vengarl slashed down with his sword, however, she launched one last attack, and a massive blast of fire shot up from her hand. Vengarl was launched off of his feet and crashed into the closed elevator doors. The metal double doors almost completely buckled under his weight, but they did not give completely. Vengarl decided he would have to meet the engineer who designed the elevator and thank him, just as his entire world went black.


	25. Vacation

Azrael leaned against the wall of his room, watching the sun slowly rise. Everyone in Azrael's class knew about Summer by this point, but he had instructed them to not mention a single word about it. Most of his students had gone home for vacation, but Team RWBY, Mercury and his teammates, and Cardin and Velvet had all elected to stay at Beacon over the two week break in classes. Azrael was pleased with this—he trusted most of his students, but Cardin was still an unknown quantity as far as the Undead was concerned, and something about Mercury didn't sit right with Azrael. The boy wasn't acting like the others who went with him to Alcova, which should have put Azrael at ease, seeing as the other five students were all clearly traumatized to varying degrees, but the fact remained: Mercury wasn't bothered by it. And that bothered Azrael; no 18-year-old student should have come out of that town as well as Mercury had. Which was why Azrael had asked Summer to stay in Team RWBY's dorm for the time being, and why he was now patiently waiting for Mercury Black to enter the room while the gray-haired young man stood on the other side of the room, with a small woman next to him.

Azrael decided he was done waiting. "I can hear both of you. Enter." The door opened, and Mercury stood there, the ever-present smirk plastered across his features, as it usually was. Next to him was a very short girl with strange hair and eyes. On the left side of her head, her hair was bright pink, but the other half was a rich brown. Her eye color mirrored her hair, her left iris brown and her right iris pink. Azrael had only ever seen heterochromia in one person before: Shanalotte, the Emerald Herald—the woman directly responsible for his success in conquering Drangleic and killing Nashandra. "And who are you, girl?"

The girl cocked her head, a strange expression flitting over her eyes before vanishing. Mercury spoke for her. "This is Neopolitan, she's one of my teammates. She, uh, she doesn't talk."

"I see. Miss Neopolitan, please leave Mister Black and me alone, we need to speak in private." The girl froze, clearly unwilling to leave—for a moment, it even seemed as if she would attempt to force the issue—but a shake of the head from her teammate sent her away. "That's better. Mercury, please close the door behind her, and sit down." Mercury kicked the door lightly as he walked over to the bed and sat. "Now, I would like to talk about what happened at Fort Alcova." Mercury's eyes widened slightly.

"Please, I…I don't want to talk about it."

"I don't care. The faculty has to make sure that all six of you are mentally fit to continue your schooling here." It was true; Azrael found out that this sort of procedure was actually rather commonplace with students returning from dangerous missions. Peter Port had already met with Team SSSN and Coco—the rotund man was apparently a shockingly good counselor—and cleared them, but Mercury had been ducking out of the sessions at every opportunity. "I know it might be hard to talk about, but I will have you speak on it." Azrael's tone brooked neither argument nor refusal.

"I just don't want to talk about it, okay?" _Clever._ Azrael didn't doubt that Mercury's act worked on everyone around him, but Azrael had been alive for 15,000 years. You don't live that long as a leader without learning how to deal with personal conflicts, and how to spot liars. Mercury's façade was, in a word, ingenious. He put up a front of not wanting to talk about what happened, making everybody who observed him think that he was too traumatized to talk about it—throwing them off the scent of the true deception. Azrael decided a brute force approach would work best.

"You've killed before."

Mercury showed almost no reaction. "Of course I have, we've all killed Grimm."

"I'm not talking about Grimm and you know it. I'm not the police, Mercury, your words will not leave this room."

The boy looked up at the teacher, still imposing, even in a t-shirt and jeans—although the massive facial scar probably had a lot to do with that—and sighed. "I was 15 years old when I killed my dad."

Azrael showed even less reaction than Mercury had a moment earlier. "Why?"

"He tried to kill me."

"Why?"

"He was drunk."

"Stop lying."

"It's not a lie. He was always drunk."

"I believe you, but alcohol wasn't the reason he attacked, was it?"

Another sigh. _He's good at this._ Mercury was telling the truth, but something was being held back. "No. I told him I was running away. That I had had enough of the drinking, the yelling, the…the beatings."

"I see. So you told him you were leaving home and he attacked you? That seems like an overreaction."

"I'm sure it does to you, but you didn't know Marcus Black. The first thing he did was drag me down to the basement with him. He grabbed a rusted pole just lying on the floor and started beating me with it. At first, he hit me all over, but eventually he started working on my legs. He started screaming at me, over and over, 'I'll make sure you can never run away, you ungrateful little fuck!' After about half an hour, he dragged me back upstairs and threw me in my room. Guess he wanted to let me bleed out, but I knew where he kept his gun." Mercury's left hand was shaking slightly.

Azrael interrupted before the student could go any further. "That's enough, you don't need to continue. So, you murdered an abusive, borderline homicidal father. That's all I needed to hear."

"It wasn't murder!"

"Yes, it was. Your father deserved to die, and I would not have done any different in your place…but you could have waited for your legs to heal and left in the dead of night. You chose to end Marcus Black's life because you wanted him to die, although I sense that you came to terms with that fact a long time ago."

"You're right, and I'd do it again."

"I already told you, I agree with your decision, but murder is still murder." A concerned look crossed Mercury's face. "Don't worry, Mercury. I meant it when I said your words don't leave this room. But I do have one question: how did you survive?"

"After I killed him, I burned the house to the ground and limped out to the road. That's where Emerald found me and took me to a hospital." _A lie, but not entirely—and I can live with that,_ Azrael thought.

"Thank you, Mercury. That's all I need from you. You can head back to your dorm, I'm sure Miss Neopolitan is anxious to see you."

A horrified expression came over Mercury. "You don't know Neo. I think I'm going to go to the cafeteria and get some breakfast first."

"As you wish, Mercury. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have your class's papers to grade." Mercury looked at the stack of papers in the corner of the room and winced. He remembered just how much writing Azrael had assigned in a single week—and how much he expected them to have completed once they got back from break. "Good luck." Mercury saw Azrael's grin, and realized just how much he and Neo had in common.

* * *

For the first time, Blake and Weiss were actually having a conversation with Summer without Yang and Ruby present—the sisters had gone into Vale for the day, and Yang had mentioned going out to lunch at some place called "The Club"—and Weiss was more disappointed than anything. This woman, despite having gone through hell, was so damn upbeat. It was like having a second Ruby!

"So, girls, how are your families?" Uncomfortable looks passed between the monochrome Huntresses-in-training. Without saying a word, Weiss somehow lost an imaginary game of rock-paper-scissors, so she went first.

"My sister Winter is doing very well in the Atlesian military. She was recently promoted to Chief Specialist. My brother Whitley's studies in Atlas are also going well."

"What about your parents?" Weiss's jaw tightened, and Blake's bow twitched slightly.

"I…haven't spoken to my father in some time, and my mother is…sick."

A frown marred Summer's features. "Why not? You should always be close with your family!"

"I am, just not my parents." _Damn it, why would I admit that? This woman really is just like Ruby, with her damned enthusiasm. Dolts!_ "Summer, can I ask you something?"

"Of course!"

"What do you think about Azrael?"

"Oh…well, to be honest, he barely talks to me, but he seems nice. Not to mention, he saved my life, so obviously he's a good person."

"I agree. You might not be aware that he is the one who taught me to fight." Weiss took a deep breath and glanced over at Blake, who was watching her teammate intently. "As far as I'm concerned, Azrael is more a father to me than Jacques _Gele_ ever was." Both Summer and Blake looked shocked at the proclamation.

"Weiss…what do you mean Gele?" the Faunus asked.

"You didn't know? He married into our name. Winter, Whitley and I were all brought up to believe that nothing was more important than upholding the Schnee family's legacy— _a legacy he has no right to claim!_ " The heiress's face was bright red as her voice raised.

Summer knew a tantrum coming when she saw one. "Weiss, calm down, honey. I'm sure your father loves you in his own way. You don't have to talk about him if you don't want to." The older woman took Weiss in her arms and simply hugged her. She looked over at Blake as she took a scrap of paper from her pocket. "Blake, I know this might be a bother, but could you go into Vale and buy these ingredients? I think it's time I shared my daughter's favorite recipe with the two of you."

"Of course, Miss Rose."

"Please, call me Summer. I might technically be in my forties, but 'Miss Rose' makes me feel old."

"Alright…Summer." With that, the cat Faunus left the room. Weiss and Summer heard an exasperated yell from outside as Blake opened the sheet of paper.

"What! COOKIES?" Summer started giggling, and Weiss joined in, the older woman's laugh too infectious not to.

* * *

"You're certain that's the name he said?"

Vengarl rubbed his throat. "Absolutely. Quelaan. Who is that, anyway?"

"The last Fire Keeper of Lordran has been killed…" Azrael seemed to be speaking to himself rather than Vengarl. "This changes things. If Kirk believes she is dead, then she is.  This had to be… _Lautrec_ , that son of a bitch. He's convinced Kirk that I'm responsible for this." A realization struck Azrael. "Vengarl…who was left behind at Majula?"

"The fighters were Benhart, Bradley, Ray, and Pate. Alvina and Shalquoir were still there when Lucatiel and I left, as well as Gilligan, Karla, Shanalotte, Maughlin, and Ornifex. Why, sir?" _No…almost all of them?_ Azrael looked at his friend, Vengarl's throat and face a mangled mess of light burn scars.

"Vengarl, I need you to make me a promise."

"Of course."

"When Lautrec shows up…leave him to me. I will kill him myself; Shiva too. You can deal with Maldron and Navlaan as you wish."

"But Lautrec is a true Undead, like the two of us…like Lucatiel. The others will die, but he'll just come back."

"I know. I don't plan on stopping at just once."

* * *

Ruby looked at the bartender—a man apparently named "Junior", who was almost as tall as Azrael himself—and wondered why she couldn't bring herself to feel happier. She was at Beacon, her first semester was over, and Torchwick was behind bars. Hell, her mother was not only not dead, but exactly as Ruby remembered her (aside from the color of her skin and hair, but that didn't matter to Ruby). Ruby was even in a bar with Yang, drinking her first grown-up drink—Ruby made a note to ask how Yang managed to convince Junior not to charge them any money for their drinks, and why the employees all seemed terrified of them—but something was still bothering her. Ruby turned to her sister, the blonde bombshell happily sipping on her Strawberry Sunrise.

"Yang, can we talk?"

"Sure thing sis. What's up?"

"I don't know, it's just…doesn't any of this seem a bit weird?"

"Rubes, I already told you, Junior and I go way back, it's cool."

"No, not that…it's just, I should be happier. Mom is back! Why can't I feel happy about this?"

"I don't know, Rubes. I'm ecstatic about it—I bet she'll make us some cookies this weekend, would that make you feel better?"

"I'd feel better if we could talk to Dad."

"Ah, there it is. Ruby, you know exactly how Dad would react. The second he found out, he would tear Vale to the ground looking for her. And Mom hasn't even mentioned him to us—like she doesn't remember him. Azrael knows what's best right now."

"I guess…but still, it sucks that we can't even tell him."

Yang sighed. "I know, Rubes…I know. But for now, let's just enjoy our vacation. Come on, there's a new Spruce Willis movie playing this afternoon I really want to see, and I bet you'll love it." Finishing her drink, Yang slammed the glass on the counter and dragged her sister out. Today, Ruby would have a fun day out, or so help her, her name wasn't Yang Xiao Long.

* * *

Velvet looked over her pizza at her boyfriend. _Cardin Winchester, my boyfriend._ Even hearing it in her own head, in her own voice, still shocked Velvet. She was on a date with Cardin. Her boyfriend. Even more shocking was that she was happy. _Coco doesn't know what she's talking about. Sure, Cardin was a dick, but whatever it was that Lucatiel told him must have worked._ The thought of the older woman's fate darkened Velvet's mood slightly, but not enough to dampen her joy. If something bad really had happened to Lucatiel, Velvet was certain Azrael would've told the class.

Velvet didn't know how for certain long this relationship would last, but she was determined to find out. Beneath his crusty exterior, Cardin was a real softy. He went out of his way to make sure that Velvet was enjoying herself any time they were together, and even managed to get them front row seats at the sold-out premiere of _Jaune Wick 2_ , the new Spruce Willis movie. Velvet found it very, very funny to imagine how much teasing her classmate must have gotten from Nora and Yang about sharing a first name with _that_ character.

"Velvs, what's up? You've been staring at me for like three minutes."

Velvet snapped back to reality. "Oh nothing, Cardin. Just thinking about things."

"Anything interesting?" Velvet smacked his arm. "Heh, sorry."

"You should be," Velvet teased. She grabbed her slice of veggie-lover's pizza and bit into it. Yet another change in Cardin. Velvet had been a vegetarian for all her life—she had tried meat, but didn't really like the taste—and when Cardin learned this, he immediately looked up every restaurant in Vale with veggie options. "Cardin, you're a good boyfriend."

"Only a good one, huh?" He waggled his eyebrows. _Oh gods, did Yang teach him that?_

"Oh, shut up, you idiot." Velvet reached across the table and kissed Cardin to make sure he'd obey. After a few seconds, she broke the kiss. "I mean it, Cardin. You've been better to me than anyone except Coco has before."

"So there IS competition! I knew it!" Velvet threw the crust of her pizza at him.

"I hope you know you're an idiot, Cardin."

"Smartest idiot you've ever met."

They both laughed, and Cardin dropped a pair of 20-lien notes on the counter, along with a 5-lien tip for the waitress, and they left. As they exited the restaurant, Velvet thought to herself with a smile, _I might not know how long this will last…but damn it, I want it to last a long time._

* * *

Karla looked at her fellow captives. All four of them were naked, their clothes long since taken from them. It had been months since any of the four had seen the outside of the dingy dungeon cell. As a Child of Dark, Karla was more than comfortable without any light, but Lautrec and Shiva had been less than hospitable to her—and she had dozens of new scars across her body to prove it. Lautrec had forced her and Shanalotte to reopen the portal, but Karla had hoped they would leave them in Majula, so that they could perhaps get help from Andre, or Quelana, or even Patches (for enough of a reward at least), but the sadistic Undead had simply dragged them through the portal with them.

Shanalotte herself looked none the worse for wear, but Karla knew better. The herald might not have had any scars, but then, Shana had long been adept at covering her own pain. Next to her, the once again blind Fire Keeper of Lothric lay sleeping, her silvery hair matted with blood and viscera. Their monstrous captors had decided that the Fire Keeper didn't deserve to keep the eyes that Azrael had given her, so two days previously, Lautrec had forcefully dug them out of her skull—with his armored gauntlet still on his hand. _Sick bastard._

But none of that compared to the torture heaped on the final inhabitant of the dungeon. Considerably less human than the rest of them, Ornifex had suffered greatly at the hands of the sorcerer Navlaan—apparently Ornifex's wings offended the demonic mage for some reason he had not explained. Scars and deep burns crisscrossed her body and every day the sorcerer plucked out the sweet harpy's feathers by hand, one at a time. Her beak had been ground down, almost to the root, and at first, Karla felt the urge to vomit any time she looked at the woman's cruel treatment. Now though, she felt nothing but pure, unbridled rage. She would find a way out of this, and they would all pay.

As Karla stewed in her hatred, the dungeon's door opened up and the banes of her existence walked in. Lautrec spoke, his voice harsh as always. "All of you, get up. We're leaving."

Karla stayed where she was. An armored boot smashed into her face, but still the Darkling was unbowed. "Where are you taking us, monster?" A long lance penetrating her lung silenced her.

"Calm down, Maldron." Lautrec looked towards his captive. "I know you can't die by conventional means, but at some point, the pain must be unbearable. I would have thought you would be more grateful, animal. We're going to see your old friend Azrael, of course!"


	26. Vacation, Part II

Azrael pulled his spear from a body as his last adversary fell to its knees, the corpse slowly dissipating. His classroom was nearly empty, with only Vengarl leaning his considerable bulk against the door, ensuring no distractions. It was a technique Azrael had learned after conquering Drangleic, one that became very useful when access to Shanalotte or the Fire Keeper was cut off. Sometimes Azrael's strength wasn't enough, and so he would summon shades of the late King Vendrick's forces to spar with. And Vendrick had a very large, very diverse military. Azrael almost never used it before Remnant, but without a bonfire or his retinue, he had been forced to make due—and the technique's similarities to Weiss's and Winter's Semblance were not lost on him.

These warriors in particular were the Archdrake Knights, guardians of the Shrine of Amana. Clad in thick white robes and ornate helmets, the Knights lived, fought, and died in waist-deep water, for so long that they had learned to move through liquid with the same speed as most men moved on dry land. They used their large hammers and decorative shields to keeps enemies at long range and pummel them from afar.

Azrael, on the other hand, was half-naked, wearing only a pair of leather pants and forsaking a shield as he dodged and ducked around his enemies. Vengarl noted that, somewhat inexplicably, Azrael's Darksign was almost completely dormant, appearing for the moment to be nothing but a spiral scar on the back of his left shoulder. During this session, Azrael decided that he would focus on longer-range melee encounters, and so he had settled on Santier's Spear. The haft of the spear was enormous, nearly as tall as Azrael himself, and the entire weapon was made from masterfully forged steel. But the most unique aspect of this particular weapon was the spearhead—or lack thereof. At the top of Santier's Spear, a massive stone skull covered most of the spearhead, with only about three inches of blade poking out of the end. Santier was by far one of Azrael's most dependable weapons—according to Ornifex's analysis, while the skull could theoretically be broken through a sustained and monumental effort, the spear itself was enchanted so as to be completely unbreakable, and on the rare occasions when his usual weapons cracked or broke, Santier had always seen him through long enough for Andre or Ornifex to repair them.

"Not quick enough on the recovery, Azrael. Again."

Azrael nodded at Vengarl's words. He was right—Azrael was having trouble reversing the direction of Santier on glancing blows. The skull was made from solid rock, weighing almost forty kilos, so it would gain enormous momentum whenever Azrael swung it. It was useful for direct hits, but impractical and unsafe otherwise. Azrael looked at Vengarl. "Do you think you can break this boulder?"

The Forossan stroked his chin, thinking for a moment. "Hand it here, let me test it." Azrael tossed the spear to Vengarl, quickly summoning a stone soldier between the two of them. Without hesitation, Vengarl leapt at the statue, swinging Santier over his head in a massive arc before Vengarl's foe could even react. Stone skull met stone helmet…and stone helmet gave way. The stone soldier crumbled immediately, crushed almost into dust under Vengarl's immense strength. Vengarl turned to Azrael after looking pointedly at the unscathed skull. "I think it's a lost cause, sir."

"It's just as I thought. Damn it," Azrael responded, frowning slightly. After a moment, inspiration struck. "That's it! Vengarl, give it back, if you would." The larger man handed the spear back to his mentor. "We might not be able to break it, but I can still mitigate the negatives by keeping the momentum going. I've been using Santier all wrong—watch." Vengarl had returned to his post leaning against the door, but his eyes narrowed—watching Azrael improve his fighting was always enlightening.

Azrael summoned eight Archdrake Knights. Moving his grip from two-handed to one-handed as the knights charged him, Azrael swung Santier in a massive counterclockwise arc, landing multiple hits in a single swing—killing two knights outright and knocking three more back. As the remaining three continued charging, Azrael grinned. Rather than bringing the spear back to them with a weakened backhand slash, he allowed his shoulder to twist and simply continued the momentum of the weapon—using a full 360O attack, bringing Santier back over his right shoulder and down again. The massive blow killed another knight as the point of the spear wedged itself in the ground. Using the impromptu lever as a brace, Azrael lifted his entire body over the four remaining knights, pivoting the spear as he moved through the air and landed behind them, his pyromancy flame readied. The ensuing blast nearly set the classroom on fire, but all four knights had been incinerated.

Even after all these years serving under Azrael, Vengarl was still constantly surprised by the man. As easily as thinking it, Azrael had completely switched his fighting style in the middle of a fight, starting out with a vicious heavy attack that flowed into a nimble evasive dodge, and ended with another brutal attack. Vengarl had more brute strength than Azrael, but the scene before him reminded the giant of two things: first, that he would be hopelessly outclassed against his leader, and second, that he was extremely glad that it had been a mysterious woman, and not Azrael, who had attempted to burn him to death. Azrael turned to Vengarl expectantly.

"Well, what do you think, my friend?"

"Holy shit, sir."

"That's enough for now. You're relieved for the rest of the day, I need to speak with someone." Azrael chuckled as the two quickly cleaned up the room and left. In the silence they left behind, nobody noticed two small birds, a raven and a crow, fly out the open window from their perch on the ceiling.

* * *

"That's the monster teaching my daughter—your niece? How could you let this happen, you fool? You KNOW that Salem has a pyromancer in her employ, _brother!_ " Raven stood arguing with Qrow on the roof of Beacon, beyond livid, vitriol coating her every word.

"Rave, trust me, it's not him."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"A couple reasons. First off, I doubt Azrael would call himself "The Red Queen", it's not exactly his style. Second, the Queen was in Mistral until a month ago—Azrael's been teaching at Beacon for the entire semester. And finally, the bigger one, Vengarl? He fought the Queen at the dance a week ago, and has the burns and a destroyed elevator to show for it." Qrow paused before he reluctantly continued. "And there's the small matter that even if he was working for Salem, we might not be able to kill him outright—especially while Vengarl is still around."

If Qrow could've bottled and sold the expression on Raven's face at that moment, he was fairly certain Taiyang Xiao Long would go bankrupt.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I saw the big man and his partner—a woman named Lucatiel, almost as scary as you—slaughter an entire herd of Beowolves on their own."

"And that's supposed to impress me?"

"With Semblances or Aura. Big man down there killed the Alpha with his bare hands."

Raven raised an eyebrow. "Bullshit."

"You know I don't lie to you, Rave."

"If that's true then I'm going to recruit them for the tribe."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Qrow pulled out his Scroll and brought up the recording Ozpin had sent him of Azrael killing Amber, the Fall Maiden. "Unless you want your trump card to meet the same fate, I'd stay away from him, Sis."

"And…and he's still teaching here? That foolish old man still trusts him?"

"Yes. And if Oz trusts him, then so do I."

"You're both idiots, and it will be the death of you and everyone else in this school." Raven transformed into her bird form and flew off. Qrow frowned as she left.

"You might just be right, Raven." Qrow noticed two strange cats on the roof staring at him. He transformed and flew off, extremely ready to never remember the next six days of alcohol-fueled debauchery. _I sure hope Junior hired some new girls_.

* * *

Blake was walking back from the cafeteria when she rounded a corner and crashed headlong into Azrael, nearly toppling as she bounced off the teacher. "Ah good, I was just looking for you, Blake. Can we talk in private?" Azrael didn't take his eyes off of Blake's bow that covered her cat ears, leaving no doubt as to the subject of the conversation.

"I'm actually busy with homework, sir."

"No, you aren't." _Damn it, how does he always know?_ "Come, we'll talk in my room." They walked for fifteen minutes in silence until finally they reached Azrael's secluded dormitory. As Blake entered, she noticed that Summer had apparently started decorating—or at the very least, the completely bare room was now slightly less bare. Now the window had blinds, and the bed had an actual blanket.

Azrael closed the door behind them. "Sit." Blake obeyed, plopping down on the bed. "Why are you still wearing the bow? Surely the rest of your team knows about your heritage?"

"They do, it's just…it's hard to let go."

"The longer you wait, the harder it will get. I assume Team RWBY plans on competing in the upcoming Vytal Tournament?"

"Yes…why?"

"It pains me that you haven't listened to my advice. If you participate in the Vytal Tournament and I see you wearing that bow, I will be extremely disappointed."

"Why is this so important to you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why does it matter so much to you that I get rid of the bow? You keep prodding me to reveal everything about myself, as if it will make everything I did with the White Fang just disappear!"

"Why are you so determined to blame yourself for the actions of people around you? A terrorist group who, if I recall correctly, you were born into?"

"BECAUSE IT _IS_ MY FAULT!" Blake barely choked back a sob. "I was the only one who could've stopped him if I had just tried harder."

"Stopped who, Blake?" The Faunus looked up at her teacher, before responding in a low voice, nearly a whisper.

"Adam…"

"Who is this 'Adam'?"

"He…he was my friend. He was an orphan who joined the Fang back when it was still peaceful, but when the leader stepped down, Sienna Khan became the new leader, and Adam was promoted to the head of the Vale branch. Soon after that, the Fang stopped doing peaceful protests, and we slowly got violent. Small things at first…destroying a couple Atlas mechs during a robbery on an SDC storeroom, blowing up a Dust warehouse with nobody inside. But soon Adam started to change. At first it was avoiding casualties, then it was minimizing them. Then it became 'No Faunus casualties' …then there was the train. The two of us hijacked a train with dozens of people on it! Humans, Faunus, it didn't matter to him anymore. That's when I left Adam and ran off to Beacon."

"I see." Azrael thought about a conversation he had overheard Jacques and Ironwood having, five years earlier. "Blake, this Adam…he never changed, he simply allowed you to see more."

"What are you talking about?"

"I recognize the crimes you spoke of. The SDC doesn't use Atlas mechs—Jacques employs his own human-exclusive security force. And the 'abandoned' warehouse? It had employee living quarters. Jacques preferred to have his Faunus workers close to their jobs at all times."

Blake's face froze, and tears began to well up in her eyes. "But Adam said…I set some of those explosives! No, no, no, no…" Abandoning all pretense, Blake curled up on the bed and sobbed. Azrael let her cry for a few minutes.

"Blake…"

"No, no, it can't be…"

"Blake."

"Adam how could you."

" **BLAKE!** " The Faunus nearly fell off the bed in shock. "Blake, I need to ask you a question. How many people do you think I have murdered in my life?"

"What?"

"Not just killed, that number is far too high to keep track of. I mean cold-blooded, unprovoked, pre-meditated murder."

"None."

"Incorrect. Eight."

"But…why?"

"One for revenge. Six of them were because I wanted to feel them die by my hand. The last one…she died because she spurned my service and I lost my mind over it. I've killed many in service of Velka, killed even more defending people I hold dear. But I have committed eight murders in my life."

"Who…what were their names?"

"Nobody you would know. Jeremiah was revenge. The rest were utterly indefensible crimes. Siegliende. Creighton. Felkin. Cale. Horace. Leonhard. Yorshka."

Blake shifted uncomfortably towards the door. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I realize that I have a very, very personal secret of yours, one that could ruin your new life here, but you had no dirt on me, so to speak. There was an imbalance, and I have corrected it. But this is secondary to the main issue, and I digress. I want to convince you to take off the bow and leave it here."

"You can't just gloss over what you just told me like it never happened!"

"I am not, I am simply moving the conversation in another direction. But fine: please do not tell anyone that I was once a serial killer. I hope that you can trust me when I say I am not that person anymore. Now then, I want to show you something." A hundred things ran through Blake's mind, from Azrael pulling out the bodies of the eight people he had just named from under the bed, to ridiculous tawdry scenarios straight out of her "novels". Just as she dismissed those thoughts as completely insane…Azrael began to strip. Blake couldn't even speak, so she just blushed crimson.

Azrael paused. "What's wrong?"

"Why are you taking off your shirt?"

"Because I need to show you something important."

"And what could possibly be so important that it's hidden inside your damn pants?"

"It's not in my pants." Blake froze, completely confused. Azrael finished removing his shirt and turned around, and Blake understood. On Azrael's mostly smooth back, near his left shoulder, there was a strange spiral scar—but it wasn't the shape that was so disconcerting. The scar was black and pulsating, throbbing as if to simulate a heartbeat. "This is my Darksign. Right now, it is active—I am focusing its power to show you the true Mark of the Undead. It is my pride and my shame, my curse and the source of my power, all in one. Most importantly, in my world, it is the mark of an abomination."

"Why is it…pulsing like that?"

"I can't keep its power at a constant level—to do so would allow my inner humanity to run wild, and if I did and Vengarl was unable to kill me, the entire Kingdom might collapse from the resulting damage." Azrael spoke about unimaginable death and destruction as if it was as normal as discussing the weather.

"I…I still don't understand."

"Let me put it another way, Blake: you and I have something in common. You hide it, but anyone who asks me to see my brand, may see it. I do not advertise it, but I am no longer ashamed. I am an Undead, and proud of it. You are a Faunus, and a strip of cloth doesn't change that. You may leave now, if you wish."

Blake sat on the bed for only a couple seconds before reaching to her head and untying the bow. She dropped it on the ground and walked to the door. Before she left, Blake turned back to Azrael. "Thank you, Professor."

"I told you not to call me that."

"Only because you think you haven't earned it, Professor."

* * *

Tukson always hated travelling—perhaps that was why he had put off leaving Vale for so long. But now, the wolverine Faunus was cursing himself for his procrastination. Tukson knew exactly who Mercury and Emerald were. He knew why they were here. He knew that he couldn't beat either of them.

In short, Tukson knew he was about to die.

"So…you _don't_ have "Third Crusade"?"

"No…"

"But what was your motto again?"

Tukson sighed in defeat. "Tukson's Book Trade: Home to every book under the sun."

"Except "The Third Crusade"."

"It's just a catchphrase."

The mint-haired girl scowled. "It's false advertising!"

"Is your friend just going to stand there or is he going to make a purchase?" Tukson looked over Emerald at Mercury, who was leaning against the store's entrance, arms crossed, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

"It doesn't matter. You shouldn't make a promise you can't keep, Tukson." As his partner grilled the book seller, Mercury rubbed his eyes and hit the switches next to him, dimming the lights and blacking out the storefront. "I hear you're planning on leaving. Going all the way to Vacuo. Your brothers in the White Fang wouldn't be happy to hear that—and neither are we." Emerald glared at him, violence brewing behind her eyes. "You know who we are, don't you?"

"Yes."

"And…you know why we're here?"

"Yes."

"So. Are you going to fight back?" Tukson paused, his mind heavy with the knowledge that all three occupants of his store knew exactly what was about to happen.

"Yes!" Tukson leapt over the cashier's table, his claws extended. Before he could land a single blow, a green blade sliced open his throat, easily shattering his Aura. Within seconds, Tukson's blood had coated his beloved books, and the Faunus was dead.

Emerald looked at her partner, who had turned around, apparently unwilling to watch it happen. "Merc, are you kidding? Now you're getting cold feet?"

Mercury scowled. "Look it's…never mind." The pair quietly left the store, careful not to step in the blood streaming out of Tukson's motionless corpse.

**Hey guys, Queequeg here. I know I have a standing rule against A/Ns, so I'll keep this short. Basically, this is a plug for another writer here: head on over to PaulBlartorias's page and give his story "The First Immortal" a whirl. It's a Dark Souls crossover but he decided to put his story in the main RWBY category. It's only three chapters in right now, but so far, I'm really liking it. I am so glad that so many people enjoy Maidens, Ashes and Souls so far, so I feel compelled to send some of you guys over to him. You will be able to find his story on my Favorite Works on my profile. Send him some love, guys!**


	27. Preparations

Straid leaned against the wall of his prison, glaring as he always did at the Undead citizens around him. Long since Hollowed, these creatures—for they were no longer anything resembling humans—were deceptively dangerous if you attempted to approach the cell Straid had once found himself trapped inside. Long before Azrael had found him, Straid was the sorcerer-king of his own private kingdom, Olaphis. The name of the place had changed many times since then, and now it was simply known as The Bastille, referring to its most recent usage before Azrael had conquered it, as that Undead force of nature was wont to do. _Damn fool, getting himself kidnapped to some faraway land, forcing me to interact with all these plebeians._ Straid had only deigned to help Vengarl and Lucatiel hunt for their wayward lord because Vengarl had threatened his life, and Straid knew the former mercenary too well to think it an idle threat, and he was too smart to think he could best the swordsman at such close range.

Besides the threat on his life, Straid did feel some affection for Azrael—miniscule as the feeling was, it was enough to entice Straid into aiding Vengarl. After all, Azrael had been the one to break him from his imprisonment. His snarl deepened slightly. Even after all this time, Straid had never quite puzzled out who had ambushed him with the Undead citizens and he had long since decided it didn't matter. _Whoever they once were, they're surely either dead or Hollowed by now._ Still, the idea that he had been tricked into this deathtrap, ambushed, and turned to stone by the very same unusual Hollows who now shuffled aimlessly around his tower, and he had never got the chance to…"interrogate"…the perpetrators personally was something that irked Straid deeply.

Breaking himself from that annoying chain of thought, Straid snapped his head up. Somebody had entered the Bastille—a woman, if Straid's guess was right. He could hear the faint sounds of combat as the fighter made her way through the legions of Hollow soldiers still inhabiting the prison. The soldiers were a gift of sorts—more a bribe, really—from Azrael. In return for continuing to transmute the powerful souls Azrael would bring him, Straid had received a contingent of idiot warriors who would guard the Bastille from any unwanted guests. Azrael and his followers would simply warp to the Bastille using the bonfire that had been created in Straid's cell sometime after his imprisonment, but occasionally one of his lackeys would prefer to fight their way through. _Their way of keeping their own skills sharp,_ Straid supposed.

The clashes of combat grew louder, and Straid's hand moved to the long staff that leaned against the wall next to him. He was almost certain it was Lucatiel—after all, four of the five women in Azrael's little gang were not fighters, and now that the warrior had come closer, Straid was positive that it was a woman. Standing still for centuries at a time did wonders for honing one's senses, and Straid had plenty of practice. Still, something about the weight of Lucatiel's footsteps seemed off. _Perhaps she has finally traded in those leather rags for some real armor_ , Straid mused. Picking up his staff, Straid shrugged himself off of his wall and moved into his cell, sitting down in the far corner as the woman reached the top of the tower. There were a few seconds of loud violence, and then she entered Straid's cell, apparently unsurprised that he had relocated slightly.

Straid looked up dramatically at Lucatiel, curious to see her new armor, and barely stopped his jaw from dropping—it definitely was not Lucatiel's usual armor, and she was definitely a woman, but this Undead was not Lucatiel. Straid knew exactly who had walked into his cell. After all, he had killed her the last time she visited, although in Straid's defense, she drew first blood.

"Hello, Anri. What brings you to my magnificent palace?"

* * *

Azrael had never been to a parade, and before this one had even started, he decided that he hated parades. The opening ceremony of the Vytal Festival had barely even begun and Azrael was beset on all sides by thousands of civilians, all of them pushing forward to see the slow-moving vehicles, each adorned with gaudy celebrations of Vale's cultural contributions to Remnant. Looking across the street, Azrael could see Sun sitting atop a streetlamp, a shit-eating grin splattered over his face and aimed directly at his uncomfortable teacher. _You'll pay for your arrogance, Faunus,_ Azrael thought to himself.

The locals were not too annoying, as they had all seen Azrael at least once or twice before, and mostly ignored him, but the tourists from Vacuo, Mistral, and Atlas simply would not stop staring at him. There were even a few Faunus from menagerie, but they awkwardly avoided staring at him—all too familiar with being on his end of the attention, and likely sympathetic towards the giant—which suited Azrael just fine. But the humans wouldn't leave him alone. The children he could forgive, but full grown adults were gawping at his skin color, size, and prominent facial scarring like he had two dozen eyes growing from his scalp, or tentacles instead of arms.

 _You've gone through worse, you've gone through worse,_ Azrael kept repeating silently to himself. In an effort to mend the bridges he had burned so spectacularly with Ozpin and Glynda—both of whom would likely be powerful allies against whoever was controlling the Grimm, a theory that Azrael considered to be all but fact at this point—Azrael had agreed to help security deal with the crowds, sharing the dubious honor with most of the faculty. Port and Oobleck were busy giving interviews to local and international news outlets, while Qrow was likely drowning in whiskey somewhere in the general vicinity.

Azrael looked down the street and saw one of the Huntsmen brought in from Signal Academy along with the useless bird to aid with this massive endeavor—a tall blonde man, dressed similarly to Yang, with tattoos along his arms. Taiyang Xiao Long smiled over the crowds at his blue-skinned colleague, a soft, happy smile of solidarity that held no malice in it. Azrael realized he had made the right choice in keeping Summer's survival a secret from the man. After Vytal was over, he would make sure the two were reunited, to hell with what Ozpin thought was best. The fact that Summer had not mentioned Taiyang once so far concerned Azrael, but not too much. After all, she had gone through trauma that only a few people on Remnant would be able to understand—and none of those seven people were actually from Remnant.

Azrael's attention was drawn to a small hand deftly moving its way through his pockets. He didn't even have to look down, he had seen the flash of light green hair in his periphery. "You're wasting your time, Emerald. I don't carry money."

The dark-skinned girl froze, red eyes darting up towards Azrael's dark orbs. Emerald had not noticed the teacher's eyes during their previous meeting, but now that she got a good look at them, she was terrified. At first, they seemed to simply be black—unusual, but nothing too ominous—but up close, the thief realized why they looked like that. Azrael didn't have any irises. His went directly from black pupils to white sclera without a ring of color separating the two. Something about this man was deeply wrong. Emerald regained her composure quickly.

"What are you talking about?"

"You think me that simple? I felt your hand in my pockets. Emerald, Professor Ozpin has put me in charge of security in this area, and I think you would prefer not to spend the night in jail, correct?"

"Alright, sure. I won't pick any more pockets."

"Any more?" Azrael raised an eyebrow. "Hand it all over. Or maybe I should explain to the headmaster about your rather…interesting Semblance?" Emerald threw her hands up in defeat, nearly slapping one of the nearest parade watchers in the face.

"Fine," Emerald sighed, pulling out at least a half dozen wallets from various areas of her uniform.

"That's very impressive, but somehow I doubt that a first-year student with no family can afford earrings with genuine rubies in them."

"They matched my eyes. You're a real asshole, you know that?"

"Now."

* * *

Re-entering the school was easy for Team JNPR—much easier than wading through the festival crowds—huntsmen- and huntresses-in-training had their own air shuttle from Vale onto the campus proper. All four students were eager to get back to Beacon, after having varying degrees of fun over vacation. Jaune had gone home to his family in Ansel, Pyrrha had been dodging Mistrali paparazzi and interview requests from local news stations for two weeks, and Ren and Nora had spent the vacation in two hotel rooms in Vale, leaving the adjoined rooms only to travel to either an all-day pancake restaurant or one of the city's three gaming arcades—all of which now had "REN" stamped across the high scores list of every machine with the exception of the Whack-a-Creep machines. Ren knew better than to challenge Nora in anything that involved hitting Grimm or using a hammer, and especially not when it was both.

"So, Renny, do you think we'll be fighting somebody we know first?" Nora was happy to be back in the Beacon cafeteria—their pancakes were second only to Ren's Saturday Morning Specialty.

"Unlikely. Teams from the same school never face each other in the team or doubles rounds—although one of us may eventually be paired up against Team RWBY or Team CFVY in the singles round." Both Ren and Nora knew Pyrrha would more than likely be the "one of us", but it was still an exciting thought for Nora that she might be able to face off against Ruby or Coco in more than just a spar in Azrael's class; none of them actually sparred with their Aura in use, so their strength was always diminished during class—not to mention the lack of Aura meant that most Semblances were next to useless, as any active Semblances like Ruby's Scatter or Pyrrha's Polarity used small amounts of Aura as fuel.

"That's no fun. I wanted the two of us to go toe-to-toe with yang and Blake, it would've been AMAZING!"

"Even if we had fought Team RWBY in the team round, you would be the worst choice to go against Yang. Remember what Azrael says: 'Never play to an opponent's strength, even if it means handicapping yourself.' You would use your strength to take on Blake and Ruby, while Jaune used his to hold Weiss off, and Pyrrha and I used our speed to overwhelm Yang."

Nora crossed her arms and huffed. "But how will we find out who's stronger?"

Ren grinned slightly at his partner and long-time best friend's attitude. "The two of you could always arm wrestle." Nora smiled at the idea—a little too eagerly for Ren's taste.

* * *

**Sorry for the short chapter, there's not really much to write during a transition. Next week will be longer.**


	28. Salamander

Vengarl strode down the halls of the Vytal Coliseum, making his way towards the faculty seating. If Port and Oobleck's commentary was any indication, Team RWBY was picking apart their first opponents with relative ease. It didn't surprise him—after all, Azrael's students had spent an entire semester being trained by a trio of immortals with over 30,000 years of combat experience between them. What did surprise Vengarl was the sheer number of civilians simply milling about, both on the fairgrounds and in the stadium proper. More people than he had ever seen in a single place, by several orders of magnitude, were all crammed onto a relatively small island for this international tournament that lasted a full month. And aside from the occasional awkward stare towards his massive self, everybody seemed ecstatic to be there, penned in like lambs.

Vengarl didn't put much stock in the idea that happiness warded off the Grimm, he had been a soldier for much too long to believe such fantasies. Steel and fire killed beasts, not warm fuzzies. But if the lunacy was actually true, then the Vytal Festival made for a very potent weapon for the people of Remnant. Finally reaching the stands, Vengarl could make out Port over the stadium PA, just as a pair of students—a tanned boy with pink hair and a pale girl with light green hair—were flung out of the arena and into the invisible force field that protected the spectators.

"Oh, that looks like it hurt quite a bit! Both Mister Shiko and Miss Chloris have been knocked out of the ring by Miss Xiao Long! I tell you, that girl is quite the firecracker! In fact, she-" Oobleck cut in before his colleague could begin monologuing.

"Indeed, Peter, indeed! Miss Xiao Long is by far one of the strongest contenders from Beacon, and it would not surprise me to see her in the doubles round!"

On the other side of the arena, Weiss and Blake were dodging and flying around the leader of Team ABRN, a young woman with bright blonde hair and dark skin named Arslan Altan. Arslan's attacks carved entire segments of the arena floor away, but the two girls were simply too fast for her to land any hits. About fifty feet to their right, Ruby was locked in combat with the final member of Team ABRN, Bolin Hori. The young man wielded a bo staff similar to Sun's, and he moved just as quickly with it—quickly enough that Ruby was actually having a bit of trouble with it.

That is, until her older sister re-entered the fight. A brutal, shotgun-assisted haymaker connected with Bolin's chest, knocking him to the ground and lowering his Aura from 90% capacity almost down to zero.

"And that's it for Mister Hori! I must say, Team RWBY is fighting in almost perfect harmony! It looks like Miss Altan's chances to represent Haven in the doubles round may have just gone up in smoke!" The girl in question narrowed her eyes, clearly annoyed at her teammates' defeats. She composed herself as all four members of RWBY stood around her, before closing her eyes and launching herself at Blake, aiming to at least take out one opponent before she lost.

She would have done it, had Blake not activated her Semblance, leaving a shadow copy of herself behind to take the blow. As her fist phased through the clone, Arslan smiled slightly—no shame in losing to a superior team. The smile didn't last as she was launched into the force field, and out of both the ring and the tournament. In the stands, Vengarl allowed himself a small smile. Team RWBY was coming along nicely. The smile faded as he saw the next day's fight schedule was announced, and the first match's combatants' faces appeared on the screen. Vengarl only recognized one of them, but it was enough. Team SSSN vs. Team SLMN.

 _Bad. This is very bad. Maldron is in the fucking tournament._ Vengarl leapt to his feet, Professors Goodwitch and Peach staring at him. He paid them no mind as he began sprinting to the Bullhead ferry. Azrael needed to know immediately.

* * *

"Yeah, I knew we could do it, Team! Thanks to my stellar leadership, of course." Ruby was beaming, while her teammates were simply exhausted—more from their leader's effusive praise than the actual fight, truth be told.

"We heard you the eighth time. Please, we're starving."

"Well if you were hungry, Weiss, why didn't you just say so?"

"We've _been_ saying that, you dolt!"

Yang cut in before Weiss strangled her younger sister. "I know a good spot to get some victory food, let's go."

As they were leaving, a male voice called out to them. "Hey, Ruby, you dropped something!" The young reaper turned around to see Mercury standing there holding out a wallet, his partner Emerald standing behind him. "Probably wouldn't look too good on your record to dine and dash."

Ruby panicked for a moment as she frantically searched for her wallet, before remembering that Mercury was holding it. "What? When—How?" Emerald stared at Ruby for a few seconds before moving off to look at a jewelry stand.

"Saw it fall out of your pocket a minute ago. Great fight, by the way. Arslan's been asking for that asskicking for a while now."

"That's right, you guys are from Haven. Is that your partner?"

"Yeah, that's Em. Just give her some space, my team's kind of…anti-social." Mercury brought a finger up to his forehead and twirled it. Team RWBY nodded understandingly. "Anyway. Who're you guys sending to the doubles round?"

"Weiss and Yang. After careful consideration, I, the leader of Team-"

Before Ruby could finish her thought, the three other members of her team interrupted her in unison. "We put it to a vote."

"Yes," Ruby glared at her traitorous teammates, "but I was the one who made the decision to put it to a vote."

If Mercury was confused, he did a good job hiding it. "Cool, cool. Well, Em and I need to get back to Beacon to practice for our match."

"Alright, good luck Mercury. And good luck, Emerald!" Ruby shouted over her friend's shoulder to his partner. The girl's head snapped to Ruby at the sound and stared at her. Mercury looked at Ruby, twirling his finger again. As he made to walk off, Mercury turned back around, looking at Blake—or more specifically, at her cat ears, open for all to see.

"By the way, Blake…I like the new look," the grey-haired boy said with a wink. Blake blushed as Mercury rejoined his partner and the pair walked off.

* * *

Summer was still ecstatic over her daughter's victory when the sound of glass breaking startled her. Looking to her right, Summer saw Azrael, his Scroll in pieces, color draining from his face. The pair were in Azrael's room, watching the tournament through the small television Glynda had provided them at Summer's request. _Although at this point,_ Summer thought, _it may as well be our room._ The former Huntress had refused to allow Azrael to keep the dormitory completely barren of life. _Seriously, one bed, no tables or chairs?_ Summer realized that as an Undead, Azrael had no need for any of the usual comforts…but she was not an Undead. Summer had asked Glynda for permission to perform some renovations, and now the dorm was a double, turning the second half into a kitchen/eating area. _"After all," Summer had told the disciplinarian, "It's pretty risky having me constantly leaving the dormitory, now that all the students are back from break."_ Glynda didn't like it. Azrael didn't like it. But Summer was right, and her existence needed to stay a secret for now.

Looking at the shattered Scroll, Summer was confused. "Az? What's wrong?"

"Those bastards are here…and they're masquerading as students." Azrael didn't seem to be speaking to Summer—and he hadn't corrected her to using his full name. _Not that I'm ever going to listen, but still…he hates that nickname._

"Who? Team SLMN? I've never heard of them."

Azrael turned to the woman. "You wouldn't have. They aren't from Remnant, they're Undead like me."

"And I'm guessing from the broken Scroll that this is a bad thing."

"No. Your weapon breaking and your Aura failing in the middle of a Grimm invasion would be a bad thing. This is an absolute catastrophe. And I can't do anything to stop them, not without starting a war."

"What? Surely Ozpin can help."

"I don't doubt that he already knows. I told him about Lautrec already—the blonde one—so I'm confident that our illustrious headmaster has tried and failed to block them from the tournament. The only thing I could do would be to kill them, and that would destroy Vale and Vacuo's alliance." Vengarl burst in, clearly about to deliver the very same news that they were already discussing. "I know, Vengarl. I know."

"What will we do, Azrael?" The pair looked at him, and Azrael realized that, for the moment at least, he had Summer complete loyalty, just as much as Vengarl's—and since Lucatiel's death, they had been short a member. As far as Azrael was concerned, she was one of them until after this storm had been weathered.

Before he could begin, a melodious voice rang out from the open window. "Honorable Sovereign, I have a suggestion." The trio looked to the window and saw a pair of large cats perched on the sill: one fat and gray, the other one very lithe and silky, with brown fur on top and pure white hair covering its belly.

Vengarl smiled broadly. He had missed these two. "It's been too long, Shalquoir. You too, Alvina." For her part, Summer simply stared, mouth gaping, as the two enormous warriors walked over and picked up the cats before placing them both on the dinner table.

As the cats sprawled out, Summer found her voice. "Did…did that cat just talk?"

* * *

Cardin sat on the couch, watching the post-match commentary with Velvet leaning on his shoulder, his arm around his girlfriend. At some point, Fox and Yatsuhashi had moved a couch into his dorm—likely at Velvet's insistence—so Team CFVY had spent the day watching the tournament. Since second years were exempt from competing in the first day's matches (and Cardin no longer had a team), none of them had to endure the massive crowds or overpriced, undercooked hamburgers of the Coliseum.

"Good matches all around, huh Velvs?"

The brunette Faunus looked up at Cardin, her rabbit ears swatting him in the face, much to her own amusement. "Yes. I'm really glad none of our friends were eliminated so far. That team from Atlas, with the little ginger girl, though. They're pretty intimidating. I wonder how she controls those swords?"

"I don't know, but maybe you can ask her yourself tomorrow. I think she's friends with Ruby."

"Really? That sounds like a good idea. We're fighting against somebody from Shade…NDGO, I think. Maybe after the match I'll find her. It was 'Penny', right?"

"Yup. Damn, I've always loved watching this tournament. So much crazy shit."

"Oh yeah, I remember the last Tournament, five years ago. Me and my family had all huddled around our tiny television set back in menagerie. It's too bad they couldn't afford to fly out here for this one either."

Cardin looked down at her thoughtfully. "You know what? I'll make sure they get to come to the next one, my treat! I'm better off than most, and we'll both be Huntsmen by then, so they'll definitely be able to afford it."

Velvet gasped, realizing what Cardin had implied before the boy himself noticed. "You really mean that? Five…five years from now?"

A smooth feminine voice called out from the doorway. "Is that so, big man? You already claiming my partner here for yourself?" The stern edge behind Coco's voice was unmistakable.

Velvet came to her stammering, blushing boyfriend's defense. "He didn't mean it like that, Coco, and you know it! In fact, he just offered to pay for my whole family to come to Vytal for the next Tournament!"

"Alright, alright, calm down, Velvet. I was only kidding with little Winchester over there. Right, friendo?" Coco's stare bored straight through her ever-present sunglasses and into the young man's soul.

Cardin returned the glare with equal ferocity. "Yeah. Sure thing, four eyes. A friendly joke." He squeezed his left arm slightly, bringing Velvet in for a kiss on the lips, before standing up. "Well, I think it's about time I grab some dinner, give you girls a little alone time. I'll see you later, Velvs." Cardin walked out of the dorm and left Coco to fume in their dorm.

* * *

"Sage, you have got to stop beating yourself up over it. You froze up, mistakes happen." Sun was becoming increasingly frustrated. For weeks, his teammate had been inconsolable. All of them had been affected by the events at Alcova, but Sage couldn't seem to shake the idea that he was solely responsible. At the moment, it was Scarlet's turn to play the part of counselor, since Sage flatly refused to talk to the school counselor—although, considering that the school counselor was Oobleck, Sun couldn't totally blame him. "We've all forgiven you, man. We've all made bad decisions before."

"Neptune, your decisions never got a town killed, so would you please shut the fuck up!" The red-haired boy's eyes went wide, and he couldn't bring himself to respond at all. He and Sage had grown up together, almost inseparable from the first time they met. Sage had never cursed before, nor had he ever yelled at his partner like that.

Before the collective awkwardness could suffocate the entire dormitory, the door burst open, and Sun breathed a sigh of relief as Azrael walked in. "Hey there, sir, what's up?"

Seemingly oblivious to the mood, Azrael barreled headfirst into his reason for appearing. "Tomorrow you are fighting Team SLMN, from Vacuo. You cannot let them win. I know all four of them personally, and they will be the most brutal fighters you have ever come across. They have managed to disguise themselves as first-year students at Shade Academy, but this is a falsehood. Each one of them is a seasoned warrior." Azrael plugged Summer's Scroll into the television, bringing up four bios that he and Vengarl had drawn up. The first biography showed an angry-looking young man, stocky and tanned, with a shaved head.

"This is Shiva, the so-called "leader" of SLMN. He wields a massive curved sword called the Murakumo, along with a massive stone shield, and has the strength to wield both, even without Aura. He is intelligent, but lacks any real ambition…an opportunist to the core. Do not put your guard down around him, even for an instant, or you will pay the price." Azrael paused for a moment, looking at the boys, before picking up a dinner plate and throwing it at Sage's head, currently resting in his hands. The ceramic shattered and the young boy started yelling, but Azrael simply continued on. "Sage, pay attention, I want you taking on Shiva, you're the only one strong enough to trade blows with him. If you sleep through this briefing, there is a distressingly real possibility that one of you will die tomorrow." Without missing a beat, Azrael pulled up the second bio.

"This is Navlaan. He wears cloth robes and possesses no melee weapon, but do not underestimate him. His staff is fragile but it can utilize Dust to unleash complete devastation at close, medium, and long range. During the fight, Navlaan should be your absolute first priority. Scarlet, I want you to use your hook and sword to keep close to him and force him to defend himself at melee range. Even if you can't beat him, the longer you can keep him busy, the better chance one of your teammates has of winning their fight and coming in to help you finish him off." The picture on screen looked shockingly similar to what the boys imagined Azrael might look like if he were younger and without the massive scar on his face. Navlaan's skin was blue—albeit a slightly darker blue than Azrael's—and his eyes were kind, with a straight nose and small ears rounding out the entirely average-looking face belying the strange coloration of his skin. Before they could think too much about the similarities, however, Azrael pulled up the third bio.

"This is Maldron. He wears light armor, but utilizes a lance and heavy greatshield. I cannot emphasize this enough: do not let Maldron get behind you. His lance could kill either me or Vengarl in a single blow if he managed to find any exposed back, and he does nto care about rules, safety, or even basic goddamn decency. If Maldron gets behind you, your Aura will not save you, even at full strength. You will die." Looking at the red-haired albino on screen and the murderous expression on his face—as if he was preparing to murder the cameraman as punishment for taking the picture—Sun began to think Azrael wasn't exaggerating. "Neptune, I want you fighting him. Your weapon's electrical capabilities will catch him off guard and stun him through his shield, giving you a chance to take him out quickly. Trust me, you'll be better off this way. Which brings me to…Lautrec." Azrael swiped his finger across the Scroll, bringing up the final dossier.

If the boys thought that Maldron or Shiva looked mean, this fighter looked downright psychotic. He was relatively normal in terms of his general features—no strange skin colors, a normal mop of blonde hair on his head—but then they boys looked at his eyes and mouth, and that was where any normalcy ended. Lautrec was grinning like he had just won the lottery, but his cold blue eyes looked like they belonged to a spree killer. A primal, burning rage emanated from the eyes, and Sun suddenly realized that all his teammates had already been assigned a combatant. "Lautrec wears thick golden armor and fights with two curved swords that he can link back together, and a parrying dagger, used to throw opponents off balance before he decapitates them with one of his swords. Sun, since your tail gives you incredibly good balance, and your weapons don't rely on any stabbing or slashing, I want you to take on Lautrec. Use your shotguns first to disorient him, then use their staff form to hit him as hard as you can over the head. If all goes well, that will be enough to take him out."

After a few moments of stunned silence following the avalanche of information, Sun spoke up. "What if it isn't enough, sir?"

"Then pray that he doesn't kill you before I or Vengarl can intervene."


	29. The Opening Salvo

"So…you're cats." Summer liked to think that she was relatively well-traveled, but the former Huntress was having difficulties processing her two new roommates.

"For the third time, dear, yes, we are cats." Shalquoir's sweet voice had the tone of someone explaining basic science to a ten-year-old.

"You aren't humans who can transform into cats?"

"Of course not, then we'd be people, not cats."

"Okay, but how old are you?"

Shalquoir sidled up to Summer, rubbing her torso on the confused woman's shoulder. "I'm not really sure anymore, to be honest." The cat cocked her head to the side, deep in thought. "But I've been around a good while, to be sure, and Alvina is even older than I am. She's known Azrael longer than Vengarl or I have, by quite a margin—at least a couple thousand years. She just doesn't really like people, other than Azrael, myself, and one other friend of ours."

Summer absentmindedly began stroking Shalquoir's fur. "Other friend? What's his name?"

"Ah, ah, ah, my dear Summer. That would be telling." Summer frowned at Shalquoir's obstinate attitude.

"Are you going to tell me anything at all that could help me?"

"Only that you smell quite wondrous. I would very much like to sleep in your bed tonight."

Summer raised an eyebrow. "Sorry, but the bed's already taken."

"Oh poo. There's no need to be rude like that. As if you could stop us from taking it anyway," Shalquoir purred, as she left the room, heading straight for Summer's bed.

Summer sighed.

"Wait… _us_?"

* * *

The next morning, the Amity Coliseum was buzzing with excitement, the crowds eager to watch the upcoming matches. The previous day's events had been filled with action, and everybody was eager for the second day to keep it up.

Well, almost everybody.

Ozpin sat in his office, sipping at his coffee as he looked over the briefings he had received from Summer's Scroll the night before—four more Undead, all of them extremely dangerous. Add to that the reports of a massive Nevermore-like creature in the Forest of Forever Fall, and Ozpin's allies were stretched thin as he sent Glynda to investigate it. Apparently, it bore no Grimm markings or armor, and even lacked the usual red eyes, but it was positively massive—if it was a new strain of Grimm and not just some freakish animal, it could not be ignored. Ozpin would have liked to keep Glynda close, but he had sent the lower academies' teachers back to their respective schools now that the opening ceremonies had concluded, and so Taiyang was gone, another potential piece removed from the board, and during a crucial time.

This Team SLMN was clearly a major threat, but for the moment, there was nothing Ozpin could do without starting an international incident—and the negative emotions that resulted would surely bring the Grimm to their doorstep. It frustrated Ozpin, for he was sure beyond a shadow of doubt that these new threats from Azrael's world were involved with Salem in some way. And it was almost certainly a separate world; Doctor Oobleck had been unable to turn up even the slightest hint of a pre-Dust civilization resembling any of the countries Azrael spoke of. As far as Remnant was concerned, there had never been an Oolacile, or an Eleum Loyce, or a Londor. _But why bring in outside help, when the Red Queen is already in play? Perhaps she felt Amber's demise, somehow?_ Ozpin was unsure, and he hated being unsure, but the cards had been lain down, and the game had begun. For the moment, all he could do was trust that Team SSSN had prepared enough, and that Azrael's briefings would give them the upper hand.

 _After all, if they don't…_ Ozpin shuddered to think what might happen if Beacon fell. He would not allow such harm to befall his students, nor his citizens.

* * *

Vengarl couldn't sit down. He was standing in the front row of the faculty section, gripping the railing so hard his knuckles were turning white inside his gloves, and the metal pole was threatening to collapse in on itself. He had worn his full combat gear, prepared to step in the instant Team SLMN tried something underhanded.

In the dormitory, Summer watched the television anxiously as she paced across the room, unable to sit still. Azrael had left to see what he could turn up from the other Shade students, and Shalquoir was napping on the kitchen table. Alvina, however, had perched herself on the couch and was watching the broadcast intently whenever the leader of SLMN was shown on the screen.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the second day of the Vytal Festival Huntsmen Tournament! For our first match, we have Team SSSN, from Haven, facing off against Team SLMN, from Shade!" Port's voice boomed over the PA and across the airwaves, as millions of people throughout Remnant watched the two teams walk up to the arena. "Bart, what do you think about these teams? It looks like we're going to have quite the match on our hands!"

"Indeed we are, Peter. Team SSSN is fresh off a mission with a professional Huntsman and a fellow colleague of ours, and by all accounts, these four young men performed admirably in the defense of a village on the outskirts of Vale! Across from them, we have the Shade team, SLMN, who all appear quite formidable, if I do say so myself—according to the information I'm receiving, SLMN's members all, to a man, do not even have last names! Most interestingly, only one of the eight combatants—Sun Wukong, the leader of Team SSSN—has had their Semblance documented, so everybody better be on the lookout for strange abilities! Oh, and it looks like the arena is being chosen!" A massive projection appeared in the middle of the Coliseum, showing what looked like a slot machine. The four columns began to spin, and the crowd waited with bated breath. Eventually, the columns slowed and stopped, the first one with an image of a mountain, the second with an iceberg, the third with several trees on it, and the last one with a building.

As the projection faded away, the floor of the arena sank, and after several seconds, four platforms came up to replace them, seemingly from a bottomless pit. The platforms were triangular in shape and each one covered a quarter of the arena. Each platform was covered in a different habitat, corresponding to the four icons that the projection had chosen. The first corner was a large, jagged rock formation, reaching nearly 80 feet in height, comprised of dozens of small platforms, allowing significant cover, but also providing an easy way to climb it. The second tile was covered by a thick sheet of ice that had been twisted into short peaks and shallow valleys, and a single opening spouted steam at irregular intervals. The third quadrant was a thick forest, almost impossible to see into—however, multiple cameras had been rigged in it, providing visual coverage of the entire area. The final zone was a small destroyed cityscape, with several alleys between bombed-out buildings. Professor Port began speaking once again.

"A fine arena composition! Alright everybody, are you ready?" A tumultuous roar rose up from the crowd as the two teams walked on to the arena. Eight massive video boards showed the audience each contestant's name and Aura level next to their portrait. "Let's get ready, people! TEAM SUN VERSUS TEAM SALAMANDER, _BEGIN!_ " Almost immediately, seven of the eight combatants began moving. SLMN had started in the ice quadrant, so Shiva ran into the forest and took cover, while Lautrec headed for the urban district and Navlaan began making his way up the mountains. Maldron, however, stationed himself atop an icy crest and waved over to Team SSSN, in an almost friendly manner.

None of them were fooled. Sun dove into one of the buildings, while Scarlet used his hook to ascend the mountain and Sage charged into the forest, eager to redeem himself, in his own eyes at least, for his failure at Alcova. Neptune brought his weapon up in rifle form at began hammering Maldron at range as he steadily moved towards his opponent.

In the stands, Vengarl was even more on edge than before. _Our strategy was to split them up…why did they play into it so readily? And how do they have Aura? That's supposed to be impossible_ Vengarl was distracted by a horrifying sight: a massive shower of crystalline daggers was raining from the sky, targeting Neptune and Scarlet—the only two fighters still out in the open. Scarlet, still travelling on his hook, avoided the brunt of the attack and his Aura was barely even damaged, but Neptune was right in the middle of the storm. Navlaan's opening gambit had worked flawlessly, and Neptune's Aura went down to 60—almost cut in half right from the beginning. Oobleck's voice came in over the loud speaker.

"I can't believe it! Student Navlaan of Team SLMN has revealed his Semblance, and it seems it is a powerful one indeed! This young man has the power to summon and manipulate copious amounts of dangerously sharp crystals! I wonder how Team SSSN will respond!"

Neptune would've been completely defeated, if Navlaan had not been interrupted by Scarlet's body crashing headlong into his own. The boy had managed to completely close the distance and now Navlaan was on the defensive, forced to devote his entire attention to evading the young student's cutlass as Scarlet delivered a flurry of blows. On the scoreboards, Navlaan's Aura went down to 75, and a cheer went up from the Haven audience—and a large contingent of (mostly) female fans a few sections away from Vengarl, every one of them holding enormous cardboard cutouts of the faces of Team SSSN.

"Ingenious! Scarlet David of SSSN has collided with Navlaan, taking them both over the side of the mountain! Neither has been thrown out of the ring, but Nalvaan's ranged capabilities will be next to useless stuck between the rocks and the out of bounds!"

In the forest, trees were coming down one by one, as Sage and Shiva traded heavy blows with their massive swords. Sage had managed to land a solid strike in his first swing, but it had bounced off of Shiva's ornate metal armor that covered him from head to toe—although it knocked off a solid chunk of Shiva's Aura, bringing it down to 80, it wasn't nearly enough to take the warrior out. Almost immediately, Shiva's movement shifted, and Sage had been unable to land a single blow after that, as if Shiva could tell what move he would make before he made it. More trees came down as the two of them danced around each other, neither one gaining the advantage.

Neptune had recovered from Navlaan's attack and resumed his long-range assault on Maldron, who had retreated behind the massive rectangle of metal strapped to his left arm. Unfortunately, while the Lightning Dust Neptune had sticked up on was causing the assassin considerable pain, his shield absorbed all the concussive force, negating any damage to his Aura. Frowning, Neptune transformed his weapon into its trident form and charged at Maldron, who effortlessly sidestepped Neptune, knocking him on the head with the butt of his lance as the young man slid past him. Recalling what Azrael had said about Maldron, Neptune leapt into the air without even turning around, just in time to see Maldron's lance impale itself in the ground where he had been less than half a second earlier.

Over in the cityscape, Lautrec and Sun were both hunting through the urban zone, each one attempting to get the drop on the other. Suddenly, Sun began climbing one of the buildings, all the way up to the roof, and took up a meditative pose. As he did so, two bright yellow clones of himself appeared and jumped down into the streets.

"It seems Sun Wukong has activated his "Light Clone" Semblance! He can summon multiple clones of himself to fight in his stead. This ability is far more powerful when Sun is in direct sunlight than in the shade, and so the young man ensured that he would remain in the light! Any thoughts, Peter?"

"It's quite a clever technique, Barty. Why, it reminds me of the time…" Port's microphone was suddenly cut, much to the relief of every single Beacon student in the audience.

One of Sun's clones suddenly vaporized as a curved blade sliced through its torso. The second clone quickly responded to its twin's demise, launching itself at Lautrec and detonating. As it did, Sun got up from his meditating and leapt down into the fray. His staff came apart, revealing two pairs of Dust shotguns, each pair linked by a short chain. He landed right next to Lautrec and began swinging the gunchucks and firing them in tandem, not giving his gold-armored opponent even a single moment to recover. Soon Lautrec's Aura was down to about 45%, and Sun saw an opening. Fluidly latching his four shotguns back together into their staff form, Sun leapt up and swung the staff in a massive arc, connecting with Lautrec's helmet—knocking his Aura down another 25%. However, Lautrec recovered far faster than he ought to have, grabbing hold of Sun's staff and dropping his sword. Lautrec curled his right hand into a fist and rained several blows into Sun's face before grabbing the boy in a bear hug, leaving him unable to free himself or respond.

"My, it seems Lautrec gambled that his Aura would hold out, taking all those blows head-on in order to get Sun close to him, and it has paid off! He's carrying Sun over to the edge of the arena, and it looks like we're going to see our first elimination, as the young boy is completely immobilized!" A massive shout went up from the crowd as Lautrec did not throw Sun out of the arena, but instead dove off himself, taking Sun with him.

"I can't believe it! Lautrec has eliminated himself and Sun Wukong in a single blow! It's three on three now, it's anyone's match! But what's this, Peter? It looks like it might soon be three on two, as Scarlet David's Aura is nearing the red!" The entire crowd's attention went to the mountain zone, where Scarlet and Navlaan's frantic close range fight seemed to be nearing a close—Scarlet's Aura was at 27, while Navlaan's was still over 50, and the blue-skinned mage didn't show any signs of slowing down. Suddenly, Port's microphone was working again.

"Indeed, Barty, but don't be too sure, it looks like Mister Ayana has gained the upper hand against the leader of Team SLMN!" In the forest area, Sage had managed to disarm Shiva, sending his sword flying into a nearby oak tree on the heels of a poorly judged swing, and now Shiva was being forced back to the edge of the arena. But before Sage could finish him, a loud horn sounded—Navlaan had finally shipped away at Scarlet's Aura enough for it to dip into the red, eliminating him entirely.

"It looks like my assessment was accurate, Peter. With that, Scarlet David has been eliminated, and Sage Ayana and Neptune Vasilias are now outnumbered!" Instead of climbing back up to his roost on the mountain, Navlaan dashed towards Neptune, who had adjusted to Maldron's stab-heavy fighting style. As Navlaan ran, he waved a small wooden stick over his right hand, and a sword made of pure crystals formed. He leapt at Neptune, slashing down and narrowly missing just as another buzzer sounded—Sage had succeeded in knocking Shiva off the arena, and was charging across the zone to help his friend.

In a dormitory inside Beacon, a large gray cat began laughing. "Oh joy! Would that I would bear witness to that contemptible turncoat being utterly humiliated by a mere child!" Summer stared at Alvina as she cackled, speaking for the first time in the 12 hours that Summer had known her. Summer looked back at the screen, where Sage was attempting to rejoin the fight.

Before he could reach Neptune, however, Navlaan shot dozens of small crystals at him, forcing him to take cover. Once the swarm abated, Sage began sprinting again, but before he could reach Neptune, Maldron had bashed his face with the massive shield, knocking his Aura down to 20. Navlaan followed up his teammate's attack with a single massive crystal that shot out towards Neptune. The boy saw the attack coming and nearly dodged it, causing it to merely glance off his shoulder. However, this was enough to bring Neptune's Aura down to 4, eliminating him and very nearly causing serious injury.

"That's it for Neptune, unfortunately! And with that, Mister Ayana is alone against two opponents! His Aura is at 60, while Maldron is nearly in the red, but Navlaan's Aura is almost as full as Sage's!" The crowd had gone absolutely mad; this was by far the closest fight of the tournament yet.

Suddenly, as Sage held his sword in a guard position, Maldron's appearance shifted, his armor taking on a black, spiky visage. Sage couldn't believe what he was seeing—Maldron was Kirk? It couldn't be!

Somewhere in the crowd, a dark-skinned girl with light green hair was staring directly at Sage, her hand on her forehead and her expression focused. Cinder might not approve of her using her Semblance this early, but Emerald knew it would work. Mercury had told her and Cinder how Sage had frozen up when the rest of them went out to save Vengarl. _Nothing like a PTSD trigger to turn the odds in our favor._

But instead of cowering, the green-haired fighter screamed at the top of his lungs and charged at Maldron. Sage swung with all his strength, and his blow connected with Maldron's stomach, launching the man nearly 100 meters across the arena and off the opposite edge. Sage turned his vengeful gaze upon Navlaan, ready to fight it out to the end, even though he knew the sorcerer was faster than he was, and would almost certainly win. But before Sage could land a hit, something nobody could have predicted happened—not Vengarl, not Summer or the felines, not even Ozpin as he watched from his office at the top of his tower.

"I forfeit." Sage nearly keeled over as his opponent bowed to him. "You are clearly the superior fighter, there is no way I can win." Navlaan walked over to the edge of the arena and casually hopped off, officially losing the match. The crowd went quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

Oobleck's crazed voice broke the silence. "I can't believe it! Despite having equal Aura and a fighting style suited for victory, Navlaan has left the arena and Sage Ayana is the last remaining combatant! TEAM SSSN IS THE VICTOR!" With that, the crowd found their voice all at once, and the sound wave nearly deafened Sage as the entire Coliseum cheered for him. Sage turned away from Team SLMN, who had all gathered at the edge of the arena, and looked at the crowd, still in shock that he had actually won. Then he felt a stabbing pain in his leg. Looking down, Sage saw red. A lot of it.

A steel lance was protruding three feet out from his kneecap—Maldron had made his move.

Sage's world came crashing down as darkness claimed his sight.


	30. Revenge

The entire Amity Coliseum was shocked into silence, if only for a moment, before a torrential storm of boos began to rain down. But a moment was all Team SLMN had needed to disappear into the hallways, and within two minutes, the four Undead had boarded a stolen Bullhead and were returning to Beacon. The four of them looked at each other, their young student visages melting away as their adult faces finally broke through Navlaan's illusion.

Shiva spoke up. "Are we really going to do this? He's alone, but even so…" The former Forest Hunter's hesitation was clear in his voice.

"What's the matter, Shiva? Lose your nerve? Perhaps I should have given Maldron the title of leader."

"Not all of us are brave enough to cripple a child with their back turned like that little shit." Maldron simply snickered at the insult as the Bullhead landed, the pilot waving them off before he took his leave, flying the Bullhead out of the city.

"Stop fighting and focus, idiots. If any of you run, I will make sure to kill you myself," Lautrec snarled, looking at the gates of Beacon, a wistful look in his eye. "It's time for a reckoning."

* * *

"And you're certain, Miss Violette?" Azrael was standing outside one of the visiting Vacuoan team's rooms, speaking with the leader of Team NDGO. Nebula Violette was more forthcoming than Azrael had expected—although, to be fair, Team BRNZ was still licking their wounds from their decisive loss to JNPR. _And they probably realize that I trained JNPR, no wonder they scowled at me so much._ But the purple-haired Nebula was considerably warmer to the teacher, speaking respectfully, but honestly.

"Yes, sir. None of my team have ever seen them in classes, and neither have any of the other teams that came to Vytal with us. They have two dorms for some reason, but today was the first time they left them at all."

"Is there anything unusual about a visiting team having two dorms?"

"Not really, but Octavia saw them leave for the match, and all four of them came from the same room. Weird, right?"

 _Weird, indeed. Why would Lautrec need the second room? They're Undead as well, so I doubt they needed the beds._ "Thank you, Miss Violette. That was all the questions I had. Although I'm curious as to why your team is not at the arena watching the fight."

"I don't think that's any of your business, sir," Nebula retorted, before correcting herself. "With all due respect, of course."

"No apologies are necessary, Miss Violette. I understand." At this, the girl's shoulders relaxed slightly and her polite smiled warmed somewhat.

"You know, you can call me Nebula."

"Not really." A purple eyebrow raised at this, but Azrael didn't bother responding. "If that's everything, Miss Violette, I have other duties, and must attend to them. If you or your teammates remember anything that might be important, please send it to Miss Goodwitch, and I will receive it." Azrael turned around and briskly walked off towards the location of Team SLMN's dorms that Nebula had given him, his brow furrowed thoughtfully.

Nebula watched the massive man leave, extremely curious, as she heard a familiar voice behind her. "Neb, who exactly was that?" She turned to see Dew Gayl, her partner and best friend.

"Dew, have you met any of the Vale teachers yet?"

"Just the fat one, why?"

"That was apparently the new combat instructor, Azrael."

"Azrael…"

"Just Azrael."

" _Pretentious._ " Nebula chuckled at Dew's singsong taunt delivery. _Just another reason I love you, Dew._ Not that she would ever actually say that out loud. Despite her name (which had been the subject of some taunting when they had first started at Shade—at least until Nebula found out about it), Dew Gayl was as straight as a...particularly straight arrow. Nebula sighed.

"I don't know, Dew, he seemed pretty down-to-Remnant to me. He was asking about those creeps down the hall."

"Ugh, SLMN? That Lautrec guy freaks me out. The others are run of the mill losers, but he's just wrong, you know?"

Nebula nodded. "I know."

Before they could continue discussing their strange schoolmates that none of them had ever met before the Bullhead ride to Vale, a pair of loud gasps came from their room.

"Dew, Nebula, get in here!"

The pair ran inside, where Octavia Ember sat on the couch, her hand clasped over her mouth, as Gwen Darcy stared at the television. "Gwen, what's wrong?" Nebula asked, before her eyes followed Octavia's pointed finger to the television screen, where an emergency alert message was playing.

"STUDENTS OF BEACON, ATLAS, SHADE, AND HAVEN. REMAIN IN YOUR ROOMS. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. REPEAT, REMAIN IN YOUR ROOMS. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR ROOM FOR ANY REASON, UNTIL A BEACON FACULTY MEMBER GIVES YOU THE ALL-CLEAR." The screen punctuated the last part with pictures of all the Beacon teachers: Port, Oobleck, Goodwitch, Ozpin, and several others Team NDGO didn't know. Even Azrael's scarred face was shown, next to the portrait of a kind, smiling face labelled Vengarl. "A SERIOUS INJURY HAS OCCURRED, PLEASE REMAIN IN YOUR ROOMS SO THAT EMERGENCY PERSONNEL ARE ABLE TO RESOLVE THE SITUATION. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. STUDENTS OF BEACON, ATLAS, SHADE, AND HAVEN." The message continued to loop as Nebula and Dew turned back to their teammates.

"Gwen, Tavi, what happened?"

Octavia, visibly shaking, was unable to respond, so Gwen spoke up. "You know that creep Maldron, from Team SLMN? The one who kept staring at Octavia?"

The color drained from Nebula's face. "Yeah…what about him?"

"He just killed a Haven first-year."

* * *

"Stay with me, Sage! Keep squeezing my hand!" Scarlett couldn't believe this. That bastard Maldron had fucking stabbed his best friend! The next time he saw the freak, Scarlet would let his sword do the greeting for him. "Come on, buddy, keep those eyes open!" Scarlet did everything he could to keep Sage conscious as the medics carted him into an emergency Bullhead, but Sage had lost a lot of blood already.

"Move, kid! I know he's your friend but we have to work! What's his blood type?" The question wasn't so much aimed at Scarlett as much as anybody in the vicinity with an answer. A large medic shouldered Scarlet out of the way, frantically pressing down on the wound in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood. The EMTs had gotten to Sage with blinding speed, but it still wasn't fast enough, and the young man was barely clinging on to consciousness. As the Bullhead doors closed, the three young men stood there, unable to do anything as they heard the medic cursing through the door before the vehicle took off, headed straight for Beacon's medical centers.

"God damn it, what the FUCK happened?" Sun couldn't contain himself. His normally pristine white shirt was stained with his friend's blood, as he had caught Sage as the large boy fell to the ground. Standing beside him, Neptune was completely unresponsive, staring through the crowds as if they weren't even there. A loud crash alerted all three of them, as Vengarl landed in the arena, leaving a large crater in his wake, and sprinted right past the boys, heading down the tunnel SLMN had disappeared into.

Several other teachers soon followed suit, and Port and Oobleck were heard over the intercom urging the audience to stay calm and remain in their seats—thankfully, Oobleck had seen Maldron's intent a split second before it happened and ordered the studio to cut to commercial. If nothing else, at least the people watching the fight from the outer villages would not succumb to the negative emotions that would have surely followed, and the Grimm would not be roused into action.

"Boys, please come with me," Glynda Goodwitch was already shepherding the young men off the battlefield. "I will take you to Beacon personally." With that, the remaining members of Team SSSN moved to Glynda's personal Bullhead. Glynda looked down at the school, realizing that with Port and Oobleck in the booth and Peach watching over the fairgrounds—as well as the Signal teachers already sent home—only two teachers were actually on the campus: Azrael, and Ozpin himself. Glynda allowed her mind a rare moment of profanity. _Azrael, we've decided to trust you, now show us we weren't fucking stupid to do so._

* * *

Azrael punched the door again. And again, it did not budge. _I swear by Velka, I will wring the life out of Navlaan._ The door was enchanted, of that there was no doubt. Azrael moved his hands to the Chaos Blade before he stopped himself. _Let's not get carried away just yet, that seems like a disproportionate retribution—it's not the door's fault Navlaan is an unrepentant shit._ Instead, Azrael brought up both his hands and unleashed a flood of Chaos flame on the door.

Still, it did not budge. _Bravo, Navlaan. It's just as well. I can set up an ambush in the hallway._ Azrael took a small silver coin from his pocket and crushed it in his palm. If anyone had been watching, they would have been shocked stiff as Azrael's body was enveloped in mist, before transmuting into a bookshelf. The bookshelf then awkwardly slid across the floor and settled itself along the wall. Azrael was certain that Shanalotte was behind that door, but he clearly could not get in on his own. So, he would let Navlaan do the work for him.

And if he got to kill Shiva, Maldron, and Lautrec again in one fell swoop…all the better. As Azrael waited, he heard a cacophonous shriek emanate from the nearby forests. It definitely wasn't a Grimm, and that knowledge put him at ease.

_That's good. The Black Knights followed me, the Darklurker and the Manbeast followed Lucatiel and Vengarl. It makes sense that something followed Lautrec through as well. We're just lucky it was you._

* * *

Vengarl slipped on the Silvercat Ring as he jumped off of the Amity Coliseum, falling to the school below at terminal velocity. He made a note to thank Shalquoir later. After thirty seconds, he impacted in Beacon's courtyard, and every single bone in his body was smashed to pieces. It would've killed any human, but Vengarl wasn't strictly human anymore. An Undead's measure of death was considerably skewed, because they could keep living through any injury, so long as they had the will to go on.

And at that moment, Vengarl was motivated by unyielding rage. He stood up on dozens of broken leg, ankle, and foot bones before injecting himself with a large vial—a gift from Eileen, the woman he had once called wife, before he had become an undead. _I'm sorry I had to use it._

Maldron would die today.

* * *

Team SLMN was about to reach their dorms when they heard Vengarl's landing. Lautrec turned to Maldron. The assassin nodded with glee as his grip tightened on his lance and turned, eager to kill the self-righteous Vengarl again.

_Time to die in humiliation yet again, you pompous douche._

Maldron made his way to the cafeteria, following the sounds of Vengarl's heavy footfalls. Finally, the massive knight had come into Maldron's view. He used one of Navlaan's specialized silver talismans, disguising himself as an old man with a long walking stick—exactly the length of his lance, in fact.

Before he could close the distance, however, Vengarl turned around and launched his straight sword at Maldron. The assassin dove to the side, the illusion breaking as the Red Rust Sword buried itself up to the hilt in a large marble pillar behind him.

"Did you really think those paltry tricks of Navlaan's would actually work? I recognized your face the instant the Tournament began. I recognized your face the instant you walked out into that arena." Vengarl closed the distance with a massive leap, that should have been impossible for someone his size, even an Undead. Maldron looked at his left shoulder, which suddenly had a large red scimitar buried inside it. Vengarl whispered to him. "And I recognized you the instant you walked in here. Now die."

Maldron snarled and ripped himself away from the scimitar, feeling a massive burst of blood as he separated from the blade. More than he should have lost. Vengarl continued to monologue.

"That's right Maldron. While you gorged yourself on worthless combatants in Eleum Loyce and Brume Tower, I kept moving forward. I fought through the Frigid Outskirts, I slew three of the King's Pets by my own hand. When Azrael needed a volunteer, I was the one who traveled to Lothric and entered the new Painted World. I killed the Champion Gravetender. I killed that uppity bitch Friede. I slew an Ancient Dragon, corrupted by the Deep, without allies to aid me. Tell me, what have you done in the 6,000 years since we last fought?" Throughout the boasting, Vengarl kept hacking away at Maldron, narrowly missing with each strike, but both fighters knew that he wasn't particularly concerned. He was barely even trying. "Oh, and one last thing, Maldron." Vengarl paused, disengaging and moving over to his sword embedded in the pillar, pulling it from the marble with a small effort.

After several seconds, the assassin spat out a single word, the first he had spoken in Remnant. "What?" As he spoke it, Maldron put all his strength and castrated rage into a killing blow—with no time to set up a backstab, this would have to do. Vengarl dropped his swords and deftly sidestepped the attack, grabbing the lance with his right hand and ripping it from Maldron's grasp.

"I don't even hold a candle to Azrael. How do you think your little friends are doing against him right now?" Not giving him a chance to answer, Vengarl drove the lance into Maldron's kneecap, obliterating his lower leg and pinning him to the ground. A small crowd had gathered, watching the Beacon assistant teacher beating down the violent Shade student. "Now, die, you piece of shit." Vengarl grabbed Maldron's helmet, which had flown off during their fight, and forced it back on the doomed assassin's head, before covering it with a single enormous fist. Vengarl began to squeeze.

Vengarl didn't stop squeezing when Maldron began to scream. Vengarl didn't stop squeezing as blood began to spray out of the deforming helmet in short, violent bursts. Vengarl didn't even stop squeezing when Maldron stopped screaming.


	31. Parting Shots

Vengarl stood back up to his full height and looked around. About twenty students had gathered around and watched his fight with Maldron, all of their faces in varying states of disgust and horror. Vengarl calmly waited for what he knew came next. Within moments of his demise, Maldron's body turned to ash and blew away, despite the lack of any wind. Vengarl looked at the students, wondering how exactly to diffuse the situation.

Before he could speak, however, one of the students, a beautiful but strangely older-looking girl from Haven, pointed at him. "You murdered him! How could you!" Vengarl's eyes snapped to his accuser, his faded grey meeting pools of strangely familiar amber. The girl continued, "Are you really the kind of person Beacon hires? You're a monster!" As Vengarl opened his mouth, Glynda stormed into the cafeteria, her trademark scowl deeper than usual.

"What the hell is going on here?"

The girl turned to Glynda, finding a new target for her ranting. "This murderer just killed a student in cold blood! What are you going to do about this?"

Glynda rounded on the student, her entire expression radiating barely contained rage. "Miss, it is hardly your job to interrogate a teacher. I will deal with this…situation as I see fit, in the best interest of the school and the students."

"But-"

"That will be all. Vengarl, we must speak privately."

The large Undead nodded. "Of course, Miss Goodwitch, but first I must speak with Azrael."

"Absolutely not. My office, now."

Deciding against causing another scene, Vengarl took note of every student's face, making a note to report later exactly who had witnessed the fight, before walking off with Glynda, hoping against hope that she had already been informed by Azrael about Maldron's status as an Undead.

If she hadn't…well, he'd fought women before. Never ones quite so attractive, although he'd never say that around Lucatiel— _not unless I felt like dying in agony_ —but even so, he was willing to slice his way out of Glynda's office, if necessary.

* * *

In the Shade Academy wing of the guest dorms, a bookshelf suddenly dissolved, and a large, angry man with blue skin and a large facial scar appeared, slowly getting up from a sitting position. Maldron had not come with the rest of Team SLMN. _Slippery bastard's probably hiding in a bush somewhere._ Azrael calmly followed the three Undead into their room, his hand resting on the hilt of the Chaos Blade.

"Hello, Navl-" A heavy gauntleted fist interrupted him. Just barely dodging the attack, Azrael tried to draw his sword, but an explosion knocked him down first. Looking at his abdomen, Azrael saw dozens of small crystals piercing his torso. Several of the crystal had hit the sheathe of the Chaos Blade and disconnected it from his body. Leaping to his feet, Azrael lunged backwards, attempting to smash Shiva into the wall, but the traitor was waiting for him, grabbing the larger man in a bear hug as the actual leader of the group walked into view from an adjoining room.

"It's been quite a long time, hasn't it, Azrael?" The man before him was wearing golden armor, with two arms sculpted onto the breast plate, as if he was being embraced by someone from behind. He had taken his helmet off and the arrogant smile that covered the lower half of his face stood in stark contrast to the look of utter hatred in his eyes.

"Not long enough, you psychopath." Azrael felt a ring of pure soul energy surround his chest, immobilizing him. He attempted to summon his pyromancy flame, but the sorcery was blocking it somehow. Navlaan had been busy with his research, it seemed. Shiva let go of Azrael, but not before one last squeeze broke every bone in his torso, and dislocated both of his shoulders.

Lautrec chuckled. "Now, now, Azrael. What kind of greeting is that? The three of us, we're the last of our kind! The True Undead, the Last Warriors of Lordran! I've been oh so worried about you for so long, old friend."

In lieu of a verbal response, Azrael spat in Lautrec's face. Lautrec slowly wiped the saliva from his cheek, shaking his head. "I'm disappointed, Azrael. After all, I'm not wrong. We might have our disagreements, but you, me, Shiva…we're the last true humans left. Nothing like those pale imitations, Maldron and Vengarl."

"Get to the point. You know as well as I do that none of us can permanently kill the other. Curse-Bearer or Primeval Undead, Lordran or Drangleic, it doesn't matter. Whoever dies in this room is going to wake back up in Majula. The difference is that I have friends in Majula, friends you killed. I doubt they'll be happy to see you."

Lautrec laughed, a harsh, rough, condescending noise. "That's where you're wrong, my friend! Majula is empty. I made sure of that."

Doubt began to crawl into Azrael's mind. "What are you talking about?"

"Do you really think I would've gone after you if I couldn't remove you permanently? We both know you're the better fighter. Even with help, I'd only ever get one shot, so why would I waste it?"

"Because you're a blood-crazed monster."

"You wound me, old friend. The answer is so much more interesting! Tell me…do you know a woman named Lillianne? I know you've met her sisters." Azrael's blood ran cold. _The last Sable Sister? If he's met her…no. No no no. This can't be happening._ As Azrael panicked, Lautrec smiled, and this time the mirth reached his eyes as he retrieved a weapon from behind one of the beds. He lifted it up, and Azrael immediately recognized the Shotel, a large sickle-shaped sword that had been Lautrec's signature weapon since they first met. But now the Shotel was stained a dark black, with even darker black veins running along its length.

For the first time in many centuries, Azrael felt fear overpower him, but he found his voice. "Benhart…"

"Ha! Dead, along with the rest of those pathetic 'defenders' of yours. It's ironic, really. If Vengarl and Lucatiel had not been so fiercely loyal, one of them would have been there, and my grand scheme likely would have fallen flat on its face, stopped at its inception. But no, the lap dogs had to chase after their master, just as I knew they would, and left their friends defenseless. The black merchant, was his name Maughlin? His screams were positively delicious, like a child's as they are ripped apart by hounds."

Tears began to fall. Again, Azrael felt his Darksign overpowered by that strange feeling, but this time it was anything but pleasant. His heart felt like it was coming apart at the seams as he realized that he had lost everything. _Maughlin…Benhart…Bradley…Ray…Pate…Ornifex…Shanalotte…Karla…they're all gone. Maybe even Lucatiel, if she didn't activate her Darksign in time._

He looked up at the spree killer in front of him, Lautrec's eyes positively glowing with unbridled happiness. "I will kill you Lautrec. I swear it in Velka's name. You will pay the price for this."

"Almost certainly, eventually. But for now, let's reunite you with an old friend. Navlaan?" Lautrec looked into the doorway from which he had entered. After a few seconds, a female body was thrown through, and Navlaan walked out the door. Azrael's heart sank even further.

Navlaan began to speak. "It's awfully good to see you again, Azrael. I never properly thanked you for setting me free, did I?"

"I want to speak with your other half."

"The human? Ha, he lost his mind millennia ago, so I put him out of his misery. I am no longer chained by his annoying humanity. I have become untethered, and my hatred for both you and that cunt Lucatiel knows no bounds." Azrael looked down at the girl he had thrown so roughly on the floor. Her pale blond hair was splayed across her face, but it did nothing to obscure the gaping holes in her head where Azrael had once granted her eyes to see. She was clothed in a dirty rag, and her arms and legs were exposed, showing evidence of prolonged torture.

Azrael was shaking as he looked at Lautrec. "Why have you done this to her? Why do you hate her kind so much?"

"The Fire Keepers? I don't hate them, they are but a means to an end: true immortality."

"You're completely insane."

"Not at all! By now, I'm sure you're aware that I have…" Lautrec paused and walked to the door, looking outside for any eavesdroppers before continuing, "That I have killed Quelaan. Three Fire Keeper's souls are within my body, Azrael. Soon I will have access to truly limitless humanity, and I will never Hollow." Azrael felt Shiva move behind him and pick up the Chaos Blade before delivering a savage—and entirely unnecessary—kick to his calf, snapping his lower leg in half. Azrael ignored the pain, looking at his Fire Keeper as Lautrec forced her to her feet, brutalized and terrified. Finally, she managed to speak.

"My Lord…I'm sorry." She could barely even whisper, but the poor girl forged on, determined to say her goodbyes before she lost consciousness again. "I'm so sorry…Azr-" Before she could finish, a golden gauntlet burst from her chest, ripping her soul out and crushing it in front of her eyes. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and the last Fire Keeper breathed no more.

Azrael felt the Chaos Blade's sting as Shiva ran him through with it. His vision began to fade as he saw a commotion in the room, and a white blur rammed into Lautrec and Navlaan, throwing them into the walls, before moving over to him. Azrael smelled rose petals just as he saw a red portal open in the room and felt himself being dragged out into the hallway. The last thing he felt before he lost consciousness entirely was shame. He had failed. Lautrec had won.

And now the Fire Keeper, one of his most loyal subjects, was dead.

* * *

"I'm not concerned with 'why', we all saw what he did to Mister Ayana. I'm more concerned at your lack of discretion in dealing with this Maldron." Vengarl was surprised at how intimidating the woman in front of him—tall by almost anybody else's standards, Glynda Goodwitch stood at 6'4" in heels, but now she didn't even come up to Vengarl's shoulders—could be without her riding crop. But, as impressed with her as he was, Vengarl was becoming impatient.

"We can discuss it later, I have to help Azrael! He is almost certainly fighting the other three right now!"

Glynda raised an eyebrow. "Surely he can handle a few teenagers on his own?"

She was procrastinating on purpose, Vengarl realized. Azrael had sent his reports on SLMN to ozpin, there was no way she hadn't seen them as well. "Why are you doing this, Glynda?"

The headmistress's face grew even sterner. "Because I don't trust him, I didn't trust Lucatiel, and I don't trust you."

"What have we done to earn your distrust?"

"Lied to us from the start. If you're all Undead, then why hasn't Lucatiel returned from the forest after her death?" Vengarl made to answer, but Glynda steamrolled over his voice. "She should just come back to life, right? Unless, of course, you've been lying to us. Lucatiel isn't an Undead, she's just dead! You and Azrael are not, Undead, you're spies! Now tell me, Vengarl," Glynda poked a finger right into the man's face as she continued, "Who sent you? You're not Faunus, so it wasn't the White Fang. TELL ME!" Glynda raised her voice, echoing through the nearby halls.

"Nobody sent us. You are very misnf-" Once again, Glynda shut him down.

"DON'T YOU DARE LIE TO ME! I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOU, OR AZRAEL, OR LAUTREC. I CARE ABOUT MY STUDENTS, AND YOU HAVE PUT THEM IN JEOPARDY. NOW TELL ME WHO SENT YOU."

Vengarl paused as Glynda caught her breath. He began speaking, gently. "Will you hear me out, without interruption?"

Glynda took a breath. "Yes. Please, tell me."

"Alright. First, I need to correct you on a key detail. Yes, Lucatiel died, but she is not still dead. When one of us dies, our body turns into ash and we awake at the last bonfire that we rested at." Vengarl could see the questions forming in Glynda's mind, so he stopped, giving her an opportunity to ask a question.

"A…bonfire? That's it, just a couple logs in a pit is enough to keep you existing forever?"

Vengarl thought back to the research Straid had explained to him—or, more specifically, Azrael's translation of the sorceror's explanation. "Not exactly. The bonfires we use are very specialized. They require a live sacrifice, as well as an attendant. To create a bonfire, a specific sword is prepared from the iron of the lost city of Izalith. It must be stabbed through the Darksign of an Undead, and a young woman must become the Keeper of this bonfire. She will stay near her bonfire until the end of time, and her soul will be gnawed on by the torment of unending humanity."

"This sounds completely ridiculous."

"Is it any more ridiculous than four superhuman warriors whose powers are transferred to a new, young woman upon their deaths?"

Glynda's eyes widened slightly. "Point taken. So, if Lucatiel is alive at one of these bonfires, then why hasn't she made her way back to Beacon?"

Vengarl sighed. "Do you really think Remnant has any bonfires?"

"Oh…I see. But then how did you make it here in the first place?"

"With the help of a sorcerer, a being of pure Dark, and one of the last two Fire Keepers in existence. Lucatiel may have access to the Darkling and the Keeper, but the sorcerer is another matter entirely."

"Why? Did the process kill this sorcerer?"

Vengarl chuckled. "No, of course not. Straid's just an asshole."

* * *

Qrow looked into his empty glass before gesturing at the bartender. "Another."

"Sure thing. You got the lien to pay for this?" As an answer, Qrow threw a hundred-lien note on the bar counter. "Alright then." The bartender cheerily poured Qrow another rum and tonic. "Quite the fight, huh?"

"Sure, I guess. I've seen better."

"What? That was so intense, I've never seen a match like that. Although I wonder why it cut to commercial so quickly."

"Because the kid with the lance just tried to murder the one with the green hair."

The bartender's expression was dubious. "What? That's ridiculous. Who would actually attack somebody after a match, at the Vytal Festival no less?"

Qrow took a large swig from his glass, enjoying the burning sensation as the alcohol made its way down his throat. "Somebody trying to send a message."

"Oh really—and what might that message be?" The bartender was used to dealing with drunken ramblings. Usually he threw them out the door, ass first, but this one was pretty entertaining.

The massive sword on his back probably had something to do with it too.

"Be afraid."

"Eh, maybe. But maybe the next fight will be better. Team JNPR's up, I can't wait to see that Pyrrha Nikos. She's a tournament vet, it's gotta be good, right?"

Qrow sighed. He much preferred bartenders of the busty, short-skirted, and feminine persuasion. "Whatever you say. Another."


	32. Yet Another Reunion

"And with that stunning display of skill from Miss Valkyrie, Team JNPR has won the match!"

Azrael's eyes shot open. He looked around, bewildered, as he reached for his sword, only to find himself unarmed and unarmored, sitting on the couch Summer had moved into their dormitory. Lautrec, Shiva and Navlaan were nowhere to be seen. Instead, he saw Summer looking at him, worry apparent in her eyes—while her sclera and pupils had long since returned to their original colors, her irises had not yet done the same. Instead of the bright silver Ruby had inherited from her, Summer's eyes were a dull dark gray, just barely distinguishable from her pupils. On the table behind her, Alvina and Shalquoir both slept peacefully, stray cat hair covering what little area they themselves did not.

Azrael gathered his thoughts. "Summer, what happened? My memory is hazy at the moment."

"Well, I knew something had happened as I was watching," Summer gestured to the television, which now showed Port and Oobleck's post-Round One analysis. Azrael noted that RWBY, CFVY, JNPR, SSSN, and CMNE—"Carmine", Mercury's team—had all moved past the first round, before he tuned out his colleague's drivel. Summer continued, "So I asked around about this 'Lautrec' guy." Azrael stopped her.

"You 'asked around'? Are you insane? What if word about you gets out?"

Summer merely laughed, a beautiful musical note. "By 'asked around', I mean that I had Yang ask around. She found out where SLMN's dorm was from some poor third year boy. I think she may have tricked him into thinking she would go out to dinner with him." Summer saw Azrael's unamused expression. "Moving on. Anyway, I would've stayed here, but something felt wrong. So I headed over to the dorm, where I saw you about to be killed by those guys. I stopped them from killing you, but they escaped." Summer's face took on a surprisingly hard countenance as she finished.

Azrael was still unsatisfied. "What if somebody had seen you?"

"I used my Semblance. All anybody saw was a flash of white and some rose petals." _Just like Ruby's Semblance…I wonder exactly how many of these family semblances there are,_ thought Azrael.

"Fine. I thank you for the rescue, but Lautrec escaped, and he's killed a…fourth…Fire…Keeper." Azrael felt tears begin to rush to his eyes as he sank off the couch and onto the floor. "No…no, no, no!" Before Azrael could start screaming, the door swung open and Vengarl ducked into the room, his bulk slightly too much to fit through the door naturally. He took a single look at Azrael, on the ground and on his hands and knees, crying, before rushing to his leader's side.

"Azrael, what's wrong? What's happened?"

"The Fire Keeper of Lothric has been murdered." The words didn't come from Azrael. Six eyes pivoted to the doorway to the bedroom, where a bruised young woman was standing, wearing some of Summer's clothing. The girl had creamy skin and soft, brown hair. But her most noticeable feature was her eyes. Her left pupil was a deep purple, while her right was a bright green. Shanalotte, the Emerald Herald, continued. "My King, the monster Lautrec escaped, but this young woman saved many lives today in driving him off. You can hunt him another day, but now we must tend to our wounds." A strange chirping noise was heard from inside the room, and Azrael's tears finally stopped.

"My faithful Shana, you're alive. I…I thought everyone was gone."

"Not everybody, my King. Myself, the Lady Karla, Ornifex, and the felines all survived Lautrec's onslaught of Majula."

Azrael cocked his head to the side. "Karla…she must have left immediately after I was summoned here."

"Indeed, sir. She was responsible for Lucatiel and Vengarl's rescue attempt." Shanalotte seemed eager to ask a question, but held her tongue.

"Shana, what is it? You know that I would never dismiss your questions."

The Herald blushed slightly at this, clearly uncomfortable, but began to speak regardless. "My King, if I may be so bold…why have you not returned to Drangleic? Clearly, Vengarl has found you. What matter keeps you in this world?"

"Several things, my loyal friend. Firstly, the crossbreed Priscilla's soul had found its way into the body of a young woman, and I have taken it upon myself to be her protector. I trained her in combat for many years, and continue to do so, here at this academy. Secondly…the Great Souls have resurfaced, in the form of creatures known to this world as the Four Maidens." Summer nearly fell over at this. She quickly interrupted.

"Wait just a second, Az. You're telling me that the Four Maidens…they come from your world?"

"Not as such, no. But their power comes from the souls of four incredibly ancient beings. Seath the Scaleless, the Paledrake, the father of sorcery. Nito, First of the Dead, father of the Fenito. The Four Kings, the Lords of New Londo, devoured by the Abyss." Azrael paused for a moment as he extended his hand and a faint yellow flame popped above it, as if from thin air. "The Witch of Izalith. Mother of Demons. Creator of Chaos. Godmother of pyromancy."

Summer sank into a nearby chair, shocked at the revelation. She had known about the Maidens, of course—Ozpin had informed Team STRQ of their existence not long after they had graduated from Beacon—but the idea that they had not even originated on Remnant was almost too much for her to wrap her head around. After several seconds, she composed herself and turned back to Azrael. "What else is there? Is Ozpin from your world too?" Azrael thought for a moment. He was unsure; Ozpin hadn't felt particularly familiar, but Gwyn's soul was still unaccounted for, and Ozpin was certainly manipulative enough to fit the part. Seeing Azrael actually considering the possibility, Summer sank her head into her hands.

* * *

Qrow downed yet another drink, slamming twenty more lien onto the bar table.

"Look, friend. You've had enough. Frankly, I'm not sure how you're even still conscious."

"Must be my lucky day." Qrow looked out the window of the bar, noticing a sizable airship passing by. "Speaking of luck, looks like I'm finally going to get a real fight."

The bartender smiled condescendingly. "Oh, really? The tournament's already over for today, what fight are you going to see?" He picked up Qrow's empty glass and began to clean it with a dishrag.

"That one," Qrow mumbled as he walked out of the bar, looking at the airship.

The bartender's hand slipped and he lost his grip on the glass, unable to catch it before it hit the ground, breaking into dozens of pieces. "Aw, gee darn it."

* * *

"So, that's everything?"

"Everything that you need to know, for now."

Summer wasn't sure what to believe. She didn't think Azrael was lying, but it was all so fantastical. Dragons, demon kings, something called a "Gank Squad"? It had to be fake, it just had to! But still, doubt ate away at Summer. She knew Azrael wouldn't lie to her. She wasn't sure how exactly, but she knew.

Before her train of thought could continue, Summer gasped. Some sort of humanoid bird creature, hunched over, with a crow's head, black-feathered limbs and purplish-grey skin, had emerged from her bedroom. After Summer gasped, she began yelling. "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?" Summer flew to her feet, drawing her curved blades into a fighting pose as the bird monster recoiled with a soft cry, before an enormous weight crashed into her, pinning her to the ground under what had to be at least 500 pounds of muscle and armor.

"Do not touch her!" Vengarl's cry was desperate, almost panicked. Summer nodded, hoping Vengarl would feel her movement. _If this is what it's like just to have him lying on top of me, I can't imagine ever having to fight him._

Vengarl seemed to understand, and he slowly got off of Summer. "I am sorry, my lady, but I cannot allow you to harm Ornifex. She is utterly innocent." Upon closer inspection, Summer noticed that the creature's—or rather, Ornifex's—feathers were deeply ruffled, and there were patches of exposed skin along her arms and skull, as if clumps of feathers had been ripped out by hand. Her torso was devoid of any natural distinguishing features—she was nude but had no nipples, belly button, or even genitalia to speak of—but her entire body was crisscrossed with deep scars and burn marks, and her clawed feet appeared to be missing several toes, telltale signs of prolonged and painful torture.

Before Summer could apologize, Azrael rushed over to the…well, Summer supposed she was a woman— _after all, Vengarl did say "she"_ —and took her in his arms, as a father might pick up his daughter after she had fallen and twisted her ankle. Summer was shocked at the voice that came out of Azrael's mouth—it was far more tender than he thought possible.

"Ornifex, my friend…are you okay?" The bird creature chirped and cooed softly. Summer had no idea what it meant, but apparently both Vengarl and Azrael did, since the pair of Undead both visibly relaxed in response. Azrael took her back into the bedroom, and Shanalotte followed him as Summer turned to Vengarl.

"Okay, I'm starting to feel really dumb. First cats, then alternate worlds, now a literal Harpy? What the hell?"

Vengarl chuckled slightly. He recalled feeling much the same way only a few months earlier when Azrael had explained Aura, Dust, and Semblances to him and Lucatiel. "You'll catch up eventually. For now, suffice it to say that that is Ornifex, and she is one of the two most accomplished blacksmiths who have ever lived."

"But…she doesn't have any hands."

"I know, I can't quite figure it out either." Vengarl suddenly pulled out his scimitar and brandished it, the light in the room gleaming brilliantly off of the crimson blade. "But her work speaks for itself. Before I met her, this sword barely qualified as a blade. But now it's one of the sharpest edges in the world."

Summer gazed in awe at the Red Rust Scimitar, taken aback by its beauty. While Ruby had long been the family weapon nut, Summer had been the one to inspire that passion within her. Summer might not have been as obsessed with weapons as her daughter, but she could still appreciate a masterpiece.

Vengarl broke Summer out of her reverie. "If you think that's magnificent, you should pace yourself. Weapons Ornifex improves don't hold a candle to weapons she creates."

"How does she do it without hands though? It doesn't make any sense."

"Nobody knows. She won't even let Azrael watch her work. But the most important detail is this: in order to make a weapon, Ornifex requires a powerful soul. She extracts the essence of the soul and turns it into a weapon that perfectly mirrors that soul's personality."

"Like a Semblance."

"Exactly. His Chaos Blade is one such weapon."

"His what?"

"The katana he wears on his back."

"He wasn't wearing one when I rescued him from Lautrec."

Vengarl blanched at this. "What? But he had it with…oh no."

"What's wrong, big man?"

"One of the other Undead, Shiva. I've met him before, the man is obsessed with pyromancy, even though he had no skill at it." Vengarl paused, looking like he was thinking about something. After several seconds, Summer glanced over at the table, where Alvina had apparently woken, and was staring intently at Vengarl, just as curious to hear his next words as Summer was. "He took the Chaos Blade before he left. I'm certain of it."

"So, he stole Azrael's weapon? But…why?"

"It's not the weapon itself. Straid mentioned the blade in passing once. Supposedly, the katana is only its incomplete form. The Chaos Blade is an imperfect weapon, the only imperfect weapon Ornifex ever made."

Alvina cut in. "Summer, dear child, Shiva is peradventure the most malodorously vile person I hast ever deigned to cooperate with. Our friendly knight hither speaketh truth. Shiva hath stolen the Blade, and without it, Azrael hath been weakened."

Summer's blank expression spoke volumes. Vengarl stepped in before Alvina could further confuse the poor woman.

"Alvina knows Shiva very well. She used to be the head of the Forest Hunters, a group of warriors that Azrael spent some time with. She simply confirmed that Shiva is the one responsible for taking the Blade."

"So, what do we do from here?"

"We wait until Ornifex is healthy again, and then we ask her to fix those weapons of yours."

Summer looked at her curved swords. The chain connecting them had been reinforced with Dust and they were razor sharp. "What? My weapon is totally fine!"

"Yes, but it could be sharper, and stronger, and lighter. Do not doubt Ornifex's capabilities."

In response, Summer simply pouted at the perceived insult, as Azrael came out of the bedroom. "Ornifex is resting. I need you to stay here and guard her. Do not let any harm come to her or Shanalotte." Summer nodded, and Azrael turned to Vengarl. "Shiva, Navlaan, and Lautrec have escaped and Shanalotte tells me they are holding Karla hostage. I don't know where they've gone, but I need you to find out. I have to stay at the school, in case they strike at another student."

"Of course, Azrael. Any idea where I should start?"

"Only one, and it's a tenuous one. Lautrec used some sort of red portal to escape. I've seen it before, but I don't know the name of the woman who used it. Talk to Yang, she might know something we don't." Summer raised her hand.

"Actually, I know who that is." Azrael looked surprised.

"Really? And exactly who was that woman?"

"My former partner, Raven Branwen. She's Yang's birth mother, but she left his father after Yang was born."

"I see. Where might she have helped Lautrec escape to?"

"I'm not sure, but I bet Qrow could tell you."

Vengarl recalled the man who had first met them in the Forest of Forever Fall. "The one who can transform himself?"

"Well, not just him. Raven can do it too."

"I thought Semblances were unique."

"He told you that was his Semblance?" Summer asked, a bemused expression on her face. "No, it's a technique from their village. His Semblance is a bit more passive." Vengarl raised an eyebrow at this, but Summer simply stuck her tongue out at him. "Sorry, but you'll have to find out from him."

Vengarl rubbed his forehead in frustration. "Fine. Where is he?"

"If he's anything like I remember him, probably propping up the local alcohol economy." Vengarl was about to retort when a loud explosion sounded from outside. "Oh, that might actually be him."

* * *

"Take it back, you swine!" Winter Schnee sent another flock of miniature Nevermores at the drunken huntsman.

"Hey, I'm not the one who got trained by a blue and green freak show," Qrow managed to yell over the storm of white birds assaulting him. The stream of attacks stopped suddenly, as Winter dove toward him, her sabre aimed for Qrow's throat.

"I. SAID. TAKE. IT. BACK!" Each word was shouted at the top of Winter's lungs, and punctuated by a strong stab from her sword. But, even as drunk as he was, Qrow still managed to block every attack with his absurdly oversized sword. Qrow could hear Ruby's squeaky voice from the sidelines.

"KICK HER BUTT, UNCLE QROW!" The white-haired girl next to Ruby looked extremely unhappy at this.

"TEACH HIM SOME RESPECT, WINTER!"

Winter took advantage of the momentary distraction to sneak her sword in past Qrow's guard. The attack would've landed, but Qrow twisted out of the way just in time. The sword came crashing down to Winter's overextended arm, and batted it away, draining her Aura significantly. However, Winter had planned for this. She thrust the smaller sword in her left hand towards Qrow's head, but stoped just short of him as a voice rang out across the courtyard.

"WINTER! WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?"

Winter turned her head to see Azrael walking out into the courtyard, with a massive armored man behind him. She immediately sheathed her swords as Azrael finally reached her. "Azrael, he was insulting you! I couldn't just let him do that!"

"Yes, you absolutely could have, Winter. I'm disappointed that you let this get so out of hand." Winter's face fell.

"I'm…I'm sorry, sir."

"It's fine, Winter. Please, I will deal with Qrow. I assume you'd like to speak with Weiss?"

"Yes, I would." Azrael gestured over his shoulder to the younger Schnee daughter, and Winter straightened her back, before moving over to speak with her sister. Azrael turned to Qrow. "Hello, Qrow. Why are you here?"

"I don't answer to freak shows."

"Really, that's what set Winter off? I've been called worse this week, by children. I'll have to talk with her about letting things go."

"Well, it wasn't so much the names, as much as pointing out that we'd all be better off with your head on a stick." Qrow grinned slightly, but Azrael remained unfazed.

"You might be right, Qrow, but what if you aren't? Now go see your nieces, I'm sure they're eager to talk with you."

In the gathered crowd, Mercury and Emerald looked warily at each other, before quickly making their exit. Cinder probably needed to hear this.

**Sorry for the late chapter, everybody.  I've been repainting my room, so I had to disconnect my PC for about 40 hours.  There's a lot of stuff happening at the house this week, so the next chapter might also be a bit late.  Hang in there, folks.**


	33. Chapter 33 (Or, How Queequeg Ran Out of Chapter Titles)

Qrow ruffled Ruby's hair and muttered some sarcastic remark that he didn't pay much attention to; his thoughts were focused on Azrael. Between his reconnaissance with Raven, his own experience watching Vengarl and the apparently deceased Lucatiel in the Forest, and the rumors now swirling around Vale about one of the students from Shade going on a rampage before Vengarl dispatched him—only for the student to disappear into a cloud of ashes—Ozpin's foremost scout had seen and heard enough about the absurdly oversized swordsman. No, what concerned Qrow was Vengarl's almost slavishly obedient attitude towards Azrael. It reminded Qrow of how he and Glynda deferred to Ozpin, but even more so…Vengarl never even questioned Azrael's judgement, not for a moment. As far as Qrow was concerned, the only way you could get that kind of loyalty was through fear. _Either Vengarl is so completely afraid of Azrael that he doesn't even consider questioning him, or…_ Qrow didn't know what the alternative was, but he had a feeling it was above his pay grade. As Qrow began walking towards the school, a faint buzzing around his ear grew louder, and he remembered that Ruby was still literally hanging off of his arm.

"UNCLE QROW UNCLE QROW THAT WAS SO COOL HOW YOU FOUGHT HER! YOU WERE ALL LIKE _WHOOSH_ AND SHE WAS LIKE 'ARGH!' BUT THEN YOU WERE LIKE…" All at once, Ruby stopped her rambling, and a strange expression crossed her face for a moment, followed by the biggest smile Qrow had ever seen—and for somebody who spent the better part of a decade helping Taiyang raise his daughters, that was saying something. "UNCLEQROWYOUHAVETOCOMEWITHMERIGHTNOW!"

"And why is that, Pipsqueak?"

Before Ruby began yet another loud run-on sentence, Yang stepped in, covering her excitable sister's mouth with her hands. "Trust us, old man, this is better as a surprise. Just come with me." Yang threw Ruby over her shoulder, ignoring the diminutive reaper's protests. Qrow smirked and followed as Yang began the walk towards the north dorms.

* * *

Azrael watched Qrow and Winter leave to speak with their respective family members, wincing as his body reminded him of his wound. The Chaos Blade had left its mark on him, and now Shiva had stolen it—and not only that, the traitor had managed to escape virtually unscathed—and Azrael had too many things to do at Beacon to give chase. Azrael was sure that he'd been in worse situations at some point in his long life, but at the moment he couldn't recall any. Thankfully, he was not alone.

"Vengarl, I need you to follow Qrow. Unless we can find Raven, he's the only one who knows where Shiva ran off to. We need the location of his and Raven's village."

"What if he is unwilling to share that information?"

Azrael's eyes darkened. "Make him willing. With force, if necessary." He paused for a moment before adding, "Just don't do it in front of Yang and Ruby. Beyond that…nothing is off-limits. We have to get the Chaos Blade back."

* * *

"Winter! How have you—I mean, it is an honor for you to visit us, Specialist." Weiss cut herself off, remembering all the Atlesian manners Jacques had managed to drill into her head before Azrael had cut him off from his daughters.

Winter laughed—a melodic sound deeply at odds with her oh-so-professional outfit. "No need for that, Weiss. The General isn't here right now, he has elected to stay aboard the flagship for the duration of the Festival." Winter grabbed her younger sibling in a hug and whispered in her ear. "I missed you, Weiss. Let's talk somewhere a bit more private."

"But what about Azr-"

"That's why I want to make sure this is private." Weiss broke the hug and looked at her sister for an explanation. Receiving none, she shook off her confusion and walked with Winter towards one of the private dining areas reserved for foreign dignitaries— _which Winter technically is, I suppose_ , Weiss thought.

The pair of white-haired sisters sat down in silence. After making sure nobody was listening in, Winter began to speak. "So, Weiss, tell me, how are you?"

"I'm…fine, Winter. Why did you insist on us being so secluded? It's not like you to keep something from Azrael." Weiss was confused. If anyone idolized Azrael more than Weiss had growing up, it was her sister. It didn't make any sense that she would be hiding something from him.

"I wanted to talk about your training. How is it going? Is Azrael being fair?" Winter dodged the issue again.

"It has been going very well. Azrael doesn't have as much time to spend with me as he did in Atlas, but that's to be expected—he has many other students to instruct as well. Winter, what's wrong?"

Ignoring the question, Winter plowed forward. "And your Semblance? How is that going?"

"Very well, actually. I can even use my glyphs to create a small time-dilation field now."

"And your summoning?"

Weiss blushed. "Well, the thing about that…Azrael demanded I stop."

Winter frowned. "Damn it, I knew it. He's treating you like you're made of porcelain."

"What? He absolutely is not! You haven't seen our class's training regimen."

"I'm sure that it's downright brutal. I am also certain that Azrael is terrified that you will get hurt. Do you know how our Semblance works, Weiss?"

"We can summon enemies we have defeated."

"Then how did I summon Azrael?" Weiss's eyes widened. _But…how does it work then?_ Winter answered the question before it could be voiced. "Our summoning does not respond to enemies we have killed in battle. It responds to extreme emotion. In my case, I thought I wanted to show you that I could do it, but in reality…I wanted a protector."

"Winter, I don't understand."

Winter's expression hardened. "That's because you didn't grow up under our father's thumb; you were young enough when Azrael arrived that Jacques Gele never beat you with a switch until your posture was perfect. That day, I wanted to summon a Beowolf to kill him. Azrael's soul latched on to that desire, and here we are today."

Weiss couldn't believe it. She had always known that her father was an arrogant narcissist, but Weiss had never witnessed his cruelty firsthand. Moreover, she couldn't believe that Winter was capable of such vitriol. "But…does that mean that…" Weiss trailed off as Winter activated a glyph beside her and a large figure came into existence. It glowed white, like all of the Schnee summons, but this was no creature of Remnant. Nearly ten feet tall, the creature was bare-chested and held two enormous cleavers in its hands. More disconcerting than its weapons, however, was its face. The monster's entire head was covered by a goat skull with two blazing red eyes on the sides. The creature dropped to one knee at Winter's side, in a mockery of knightly supplication.

"You see what I mean, sister?"

Weiss gulped as Winter canceled the summon and the Capra Demon dissolved into nothing, the elkder Schnee's point proven. "Y-yes, Winter."

"Any time you are in grave danger, think to Azrael's stories. Think of the hardest trials he faced, and the greatest monsters he defeated. With enough willpower, you can summon them to your aid." Weiss looked at the ground, deep in thought. "Anyway…who was that man with Azrael?"

"Oh, that's Vengarl. He and Lucatiel came to our world to try and find Azrael. They helped him with training us, and even took some of the students out on missions."

"Really? And how did those missions go?"

Weiss's expression turned to one of grief. She had liked Lucatiel. The woman was a harsh teacher, but Weiss knew it was only to ensure they became as strong as possible. "Vengarl was gravely injured in the defense of Fort Alcova but recovered quickly, and Lucatiel was killed by a herd of Behemoths."

"She took on a whole herd?" Winter was shocked. Even a full team of Huntsmen would avoid a single Behemoth rather than attack it.

"According to Pyrrha, she held off the last two while Team JNPR escaped, along with two other students, but she never returned."

"That is unfortunate. Please pass my condolences on to Azrael."

"Why can't you tell him yourself?"

"Unfortunately, General Ironwood requires me to return to Atlas in his absence. That he allowed me to come and meet with you was already quite generous." Winter got up from her chair and hugged Weiss before turning to leave. "I hope to see you and your team in the winner's circle in a few days, Weiss." Without another word, Winter left.

"I love you too, Winter." Weiss wasn't sure if Winter even heard her.

* * *

Mercury leaned against a wall in the food court, exuding an air of smug calm as he always did. On the inside, the orphan-turned-assassin was anything but composed. He told Emerald that he was just a bit shaken up after the verbal lashing Cinder had given them, berating them for potentially blowing their cover—after all, Qrow had seen Emerald and Mercury's faces during their nearly successful attack on Amber. But Cinder's anger was, for once, very far from Mercury's current chain of thought.

Mercury Black had never questioned his decision to kill his father—as far as Mercury was concerned, it was simply the right thing. Marcus deserved to die, and so he died. Cinder saved his life, and so he killed the people she needed dead. It was repaying a debt.

But since he had joined Azrael's class, doubt had begun to creep into his thoughts. Doubts he did not dare share with anyone. Cinder would kill him if she knew how close he had come to turning her in to Azrael, and Emerald was wrapped around Cinder's finger so tightly she would have parroted any confession of Mercury's right back to the older woman—either way, Mercury would be as good as dead. Neo would've recorded the conversation and used it to blackmail him into buying her more ice cream.

_I really need new friends._

And that was exactly the problem. Against Mercury's better judgement, he had started to get new friends—Ruby, Coco, Team SSSN, even Cardin. These people were the first people in Mercury's entire life who had shown him any true affection. And it was eating him up inside, because Mercury knew what would happen to them once Cinder's plan came to fruition.

Over the past several months, Mercury had changed. He attempted to hide it, but Emerald had noticed it. When they had killed Tukson, Emerald had been the one to do the deed—not the assassin, but the street rat. His partner had covered for him, but it wouldn't last. Especially now that the plan was reaching its final stages.

Cardin and Velvet walked by, gesturing warmly to Mercury as the two made for Team CFVY's table. _Cinder mentioned we'll be fighting them next round._ Gritting his teeth, Mercury made up his mind and stood up straight before making a beeline for Coco. Maybe he could still help them out a bit. After all, knowing your opponent's extremely powerful Semblance before a match would probably help you plan your strategy.

**So, I'm back, with a short chapter.  I'm really, really sorry to leave you guys hanging for so long, but selling a house SUCKS.  This is a short chapter, but I'm rusty and not really sure how much more to add.  Feel free to leave any predictions in your reviews.  I won't spoil anything, but if you're right you can gloat.  And I promise, more will be on the way.  Just not this weekend, I have a wedding to go to.**


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